


The Bastard Truth - Part One

by nairmakgren



Series: The Bastard Truth [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Arguing, Dragon Riders, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Inner Dialogue, Light Angst, Making Love, Masturbation, Panty Kink, Poisoning, Reunions, Surprise Kissing, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-28 19:47:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 38,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8460700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nairmakgren/pseuds/nairmakgren
Summary: While Jon decides the fate of Houses Umber and Karstark, that voice in his head and the hands of his body reminds him that he is truly a bastard.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just another little fic I wrote up. R+L does equal J but they don't know it yet, obviously. Harmond Umber is a name taken from my fellow Jonsa writer Lemoncake_Chioni and their story http://archiveofourown.org/works/8445268/chapters/19348177 found here. No infringement meant - I just liked the name. I hope you guys enjoy. <3 
> 
> As the story is continuing onward now I should just clarify that I've been reading the Season 7 supposed leaks and extrapolating some of the plot details from there. Just with my own modifications and/or changes to fit my Jonsa shipping. ;)

_The cold doesn't hurt these days,_ Jon Snow mused as he stood overlooking Winterfell's courtyard. He'd been to the Wall, served in the far North – the cold was a part of him now as much as winter was part of House Stark.

In the courtyard a hustle of activity went on. Builders – Free Folk and Northern Houses alike worked to repair the damage inflicted to the castle by the Boltons or the ironborn. Children ran to and from, playing and laughing and giggling as they did. Servants rushed this way and that, some carrying food while others carried barrels of cider or other important liquids.

“Thought I'd find you up here,” a voice barked from behind him, startling Jon out of his observation. Turning his head to investigate he found Tormund casually leaning up against the balcony door, a smirk playing on his face. “Some o'the folk said they saw the kneeler king brooding up in his room.” the man snickered, walking over and giving Jon a great pat on the back.

Jon couldn't help but laugh; as crude as the imagery was, it was accurate. Jon found himself lost in thought – perhaps 'brooding' far too much these days. As King in the North, a title that had been thrust onto him just as it had his brother Robb, Jon was entrusted with the lives and survival of not just himself and those closest to him – such as Sansa, the only family he had left in this world – but of the entire North.

_Everyone's counting on you, bastard._ “The folk would be right.” Jon jested, leaning against the railing. “C'mere, Tormund. Look down there.” he pointed towards a group of children who were engaged in a rather rambunctious game of tag. “Those are your girls, aye?”

Tormund nodded, a paternal smile coming over his bearded visage. “Aye. Playing with that Umber boy.”

“Have you met Lord Harmond, then?” Jon queried, a hint of amusement in his voice. The boy in question engaged in the game with Tormund's daughters was the new Lord of his House, a title he'd gained at the ripe old age of seven – when Tormund had torn the throat out of his father during the Battle of the Bastards.

“He seems a good kid.” Tormund observed. The boy's dark brown hair made him stand out from the Giantsbane daughters, who had salt-and-pepper hair much as their mother had, or so the wildling had told him. “Fast, jolly and full of life – he'd make a good wildling!”

Jon snickered again. “Sansa and some of the others want me to keep him here as a hostage. Destroy House Umber for...for what they did to my brother.” he mused as the solemn nature of his thoughts overtook him. The Umbers had given Rickon to the Boltons, after all. Jon had watched as his littlest brother died before his eyes, just as he galloped up to his side. The images still haunted him, no matter how much he imbibed or tried to keep busy.

Houses Karstark and Umber had sent their new liege lords – House Karstark having sent Lord Rickard's only daughter Alys and the Umbers having sent Smalljon Umber's son Harmond – as a peace offering to the new King, and it was on his shoulders to decide the fate of the houses that had sided with the Boltons.

Tormund frowned, keeping his eyes on the children below. “What are ya gonna do?” he quipped, idly picking his teeth with his thumb. “I mean, you're their King or whatever now. You can tell all these shits to kneel and they'll die of hunger waiting for you to let 'em up.”

_What should I do?_ Jon had of course turned to Sansa for advise – and hers was simple. Keep the pairs as hostages and attaint their Houses. _They betrayed House Stark, the Umbers most of all. Why show them any mercy?_ Jon remembered Sansa's words, but his mind was more consumed with the fire of her hair and the ferocity of her body as she spoke – she was beautiful when she was angry.

_You can't think that way, bastard._ Jon knew his thoughts were dark and sinful by any imagination – Sansa was his sister, half or otherwise. “What kind of ruler would I be if I did destroy their houses?” Jon mused, exhaling softly. “Robb – my brother – did what he thought was right when he took Lord Karstark's head. That's Alys's father – and that destroyed the bond between our Houses that existed for hundreds of years.”

As much as he loved Robb Jon knew that he had made several fatal mistakes during his reign. Mistakes that Jon could not, under any circumstances repeat. “The others – Sansa, the Mormonts, all of them – want me to just divvy up their lands and burn the banners. Forget they ever existed, just like people are doing with the Boltons.”

“I don't know much about houses or any of that bullshit as you rightly know,” Tormond exclaimed, his hand patting Jon's back in a soft, sympathetic manner. “But I do know this – among the Free Folk, we don't judge a man or a woman based on who or what their family is. A man's worth is judged by what HE does.”

The big man paused as he let out a loud belch. “I had a raider under me – before you came along, o'course. Name was Yngvar. Best climber I'd ever seen – he could scale that Wall of yours before anyone saw him. Now, his family were into some dark shit. Witches and what not, and the Free Folk generally hated them. But you know something? When he came to me and said 'Giantsbane, I want in on your raids', I let him. Why? Because here was a warm body and a man wanting to shove off from the shitty family he'd been stuck with.”

Tormund smiled fondly. “course, there were some fights. But Yngvar shut 'em all up when he fought anyone who accused him of black magic. After a few days there was no question of his worth. He'd earned his place among my raiders.”

Jon nodded. The man's words were logical – _maybe the Free Folk have been more civilized then we have all along._ He recalled meeting little Harmond when he arrived at Winterfell. The boy had been so excited to finally be among the Starks – his grandfather the Greatjon having told him mighty tales of the wolves growing up, he had said.

Jon had spent the afternoon of his arrival with the boy, telling him stories and feeding his imagination. _“My grandpa will see from where he sleeps,” Harmond had told him, “that I will be the bestest companion to the Starks forever and ever!”_

“You know, I grew up as the Bastard of Winterfell. My father's mistake, my father's crime – it was always thrust upon me.” Jon remembered, sighing wistfully. “I know the burden of being blamed for the sins of the father. I won't – I can't inflict that upon these families.”

Tormund smiled. “I played with the little lord myself. You think I care that his father tried to kill me?” Pausing, he spat down from the balcony into the courtyard, coughing ever so wildly. “Damn good fighter, he was. Almost had me a few times there – thankfully these kneelers don't think to try biting!”

Jon snickered, raising from his leaning position on the balcony. “I know Sansa and the others won't be too happy – but I have to do what is best for the North right now. We know what's coming, Tormund. The others – they don't. And if I start acting like Ramsay Bolton now we'll lose everything when it does come.”

* * *

 

“I've made my decision!” Jon stated plainly to the assembled parties. Beside him at the high table was Sansa, only a fitting place for a Lady of Winterfell – _the crown should be hers,_ Jon thought bitterly. _I never wanted it._

Those assembled in the hall included Ser Davos, Jon's most trusted adviser, who sat to his left. Beside Davos was Tormund and beside Tormund on his right was Lyanna Mormont. On Jon's right sat Lords Mazin and Hornwood, the heads of the other two Houses that had supported the Stark cause before the Battle of the Bastards.

Jon launched into his explanation. The Umbers and Karstarks would not be attainted or destroyed and no hostages would be taken. Both Alys Karstark and Harmond Umber had bent the knee to House Stark, and Jon had forgiven them into the king's peace for their actions. The only condition he had imposed on the rebel houses was the insistence of a small party of Free Folk being garrisoned in both Karhold and Last Hearth – one of whom would act as castellan and advise the Lord and Lady.

“I won't punish these children for the crimes of their fathers.” Jon concluded, opening the floor for the inevitable onslaught to come.

Lyanna Mormont was among the first to begin speaking. “Your Grace,” she began, her fists clenched upon the table. “Are you not being too merciful to them? I should remind you that the Umbers gave your little brother and Ned Stark's trueborn son to Ramsay Bolton..”

Jon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I'm aware, Lady Mormont. More then anyone here, I am aware of that. But I cannot – and will not punish children for the actions of their fathers, as I have said. Harmond Umber is a boy of seven. Seven years old! Would you have me turn him out of his home, burn it to the ground and tell him that he's the son of a traitor?”

Sansa poke up from his right. “Yes.” she stated bluntly. “We must send a message here, Jon! We cannot just allow – no, forgive – the treason of Houses Umber and Karstark. By forgiving them you are sending the message that we are soft. We have to be hard and firm if we are to make it through the winter.” Her blue eyes bored into Jon's soul as she stared at him, a mixture of disappointment and anger upon her face.

_Gods, she is fierce. And beautiful._ Jon kept his gaze upon Sansa, finding himself lost in the coolness of her eyes. The way her skin grew hot when she was angry, the way she sneered or shouted – it was almost intoxicating for him. He lost himself in her body, in her voice and movements – even as the argument continued around the table.

Jon faintly heard Davos speak up – he agreed with Jon. “The Umbers are an ancient house, almost as old as the Starks. If His Grace was to destroy them now it would send a bad message to the rest of the North.” He heard the voices of Lords Hornwood and Mazin agree with the Onion Knight.

He even heard Tormund, who sounded annoyed. “You cunts put too much emphasis on family guilt.” the man shrugged plainly. This caused another round of disagreement from Sansa and Lady Mormont – allowing Jon to drink in Sansa's subtle yet flawless movements in the sheer blue dress she wore.

_I shouldn't be doing this, his mind warned._ But who was he to deny his true nature? He was sinful and lustful, a bastard through and through.

After what seemed an eternity of arguing Jon raied a hand in the air. “I've made my decision. Now, I need to speak with Sansa in private. We can continue this discussion later.” he barked and the table emptied, leaving he and Sansa staring towards one another.

“I know you don't like this -” Jon began, but Sansa put a finger to his lips and silenced him.

“I didn't mean to shout, Jon.” she sighed, rolling her shoulders which popped as she did so. “But I just...I don't want you making the same mistakes as Father. I saw what his mercy got him.”

Jon nodded. He knew that she would bring up their father and his actions in King's Landing. As much as Jon loved him he was not stupid; Ned Stark had tried to be an honourable man in a city made up of vipers. And what did it get him? A nice view from his head on a spike. “I know. But don't ask me to become like Ramsay, Sansa. If we start ruling through fear now, we'll lose everything before winter is even over.”

Sansa tapped her fingers on the table. “And if we don't act, Jon – we'll be seen as pushovers. That's what happened to Father and Robb, and we – especially now – cannot afford to be pristine. To secure our family, our home – we have to get our hands dirty.”

“I'm not as blind as you think, Sansa.” Jon laughed, sighing to himself. “They know that if they even whisper something about our family the wrong way, I'll march to Karhold and Last Hearth myself and burn them to the ground with everyone inside of them.” he growled, leaning against the table for support. He found himself growing hot with frustration – why couldn't she have faith in him?

“Jon, I tried to tell you. About Rickon -”

That was too far. “Yes, you did. And I didn't listen, Sansa! I know what the bloody Umbers did. I can't forget – I can't GET his face out of my mind. He died RIGHT in front of me!” Jon shouted, his eyes welling up with tears. “In front of me, Sansa. While you were off playing house with Lord Baelish!”

He instantly regretted his choice of words. Sansa flushed red with anger as she brought her finger to his chest. “Someone had to do something, Jon! We didn't have the men!” she shouted back, gritting her teeth together. _Gods, she is beautiful._

“I KNOW!” Jon yelled, pounding his fist on the table. “But you couldn't have told me? Your own brother? The man who would go to the ends of the earth – to fight against the White Walkers single handed, if it meant seeing you alive and happy?!”

“I didn't tell you because I knew how you would react! We would fall into another of Ramsay's traps, Jon! Use your head. You're King now – you have to make the hard decisions. Decisions that may not be the most honourable.”

“Aye, I am King! I know that, and it shouldn't be me! It should be you!” he cried, wiping his eyes. “Your mother was right – I stole your birthright just as she was afraid of.”

Sansa's face softened slightly. “Don't...don't say that, Jon.” she relaxed, bringing her hands down to her sides. “They would never follow me and you know it. They follow you because you've proven to be a true son of our father.”

Jon shook his head. “How can I be a King if my lady hates my decisions?” he sighed.

Sansa smirked. “Oh, Jon. Come now. I don't hate your decision – I just...don't – can't lose you. We've already lost so much, and I don't want to lose the last brother I have.” Jon saw her face red with tears, too.

“Sansa..” he began, leaning in closer to her. “You'll never lose me. I promise.” He brought a hand up to caress her face, even though his body screamed at him not to. Much to his surprise he found that she leaned into his touch. His breathing grew ragged and harsh, as did her own.

“Jon...” she whispered, exhaling softly. He kissed her then, surrendering to his constant dark thoughts – his lips crashing gently against her own as he braced himself for the slap or shouts of disgust to come. But there was nothing save silence – as he felt her return the kiss with just as much gentleness and passion as he did.

After a few moments they broke apart. “I'm sorry...” Jon whispered, looking away in shame. _You truly are a bastard,_ that little voice reminded him.

Sansa sniffled softly as she brought a finger up to his lips yet again. “Don't...don't apologize Jon. Never apologize for..for that.” she panted, her face flushed now. “That felt...good.”

“It was wrong..” Jon began before she cut him off again with her finger.

“Maybe. But I don't care.” she finished as she licked her lips softly, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she turned away, looking back at him as she bit down on her lip.

_Gods, we are both bastards._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa meets with Lady Alys of House Karstark and reflects on Jon's kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the positive reception! As a result this won't be a one shot. Gee, thanks. :)

The taste of Jon on her lips was something Sansa wanted to keep forever. As she walked through the corridors heading for the godswood, her mind continued to flash to Jon, his lips on her own. She sighed, pausing to lean against the wall where no one could see her.

_I never knew he felt that way.._

She had found herself drawn to Jon, more so now that they had reclaimed their home. Now that Ramsay was dead, and the North had rallied behind the Starks once again. She would watch him as he went about his duties. She'd watched as he put himself out there, doing things like helping with repairs or training the new guardsmen. He was always available for anyone, no matter who they were – smallfolk or noble alike.

He commanded respect and admiration – something that she knew she could never. _Not after King's Landing._ She was always cautious, always on guard. Even around Jon – she had kept the news of Lord Baelish and his army from him, and it had cost her dearly. She began to cry softly as she thought of that day. _Why did you do it, you stupid girl?_

 _Because of what's happened all of these years._ She knew, truly knew that in her heart Jon was not Joffrey or Ramsay or Petyr, but all the same she still struggled to open up fully to him as she should have. He'd opened up fully to her – spending almost every evening in her solar, talking deep into the night and into the morning. They had bonded, truly bonded – more so then anyone.

She knew that Petyr hated to watch them together. He had played his hand and failed utterly – but Sansa knew that a man as dangerous as Baelish would be trying something, anything to acquire what he truly wanted – her. But even as that dark and buried part of her whispered about the power she could have as Queen, how it was hers by right just as he had said, Sansa would always put her family first.

 _That much has not changed._ When did she first start to feel for Jon? Probably the day she'd arrived at Castle Black with Brienne and Podrick. Seeing him again, standing in the armour of their House had rejuvenated a spark inside of her – something that had been dead since she'd watched her father die before her eyes.

She thought of him every day. Some nights she would imagine sharing a bed with him – something that mortified the remnants of her noble lady persona. No matter how much she told herself it was wrong, her mind would not allow her a respite.

And now she knew that he felt the same about her. She licked her lips again – the taste of him still lingered. And it was good – by the Gods was it good. She realized that he was the first kiss she had that didn't disgust her. Indeed, she felt safe in Jon's embrace.

 _You love him, silly girl._ None the less, she would have to play Petyr's game – at least until better opportunities presented. No matter how she acted however, her goals remained the same. To keep the North free – of Cersei, of Petyr, of anyone. She would not allow her home to fall again.

 Jon was her King, a title he whole heatedly deserved. _I will keep you safe from the threats you cannot see, Jon. I promise._

Wiping her eyes, Sansa continued down the corridor, heading for the godswood.

* * *

As she entered the courtyard she spotted a figure kneeling at the base of the heart tree. Walking curiously closer Sansa saw that it was a woman – who had red hair. Not as red as her own, but a lighter shade. The other woman turned her head and stood up, flushing brightly. “Oh...Lady Sansa. I'm sorry, but I had to come here and p-pray.” she squeaked.

Sansa knew who the woman was even without the white sunburst emblazoned on her chest. Lady Alys Karstark, new Lady of Karhold and head of House Karstark. Her brother Harald had survived the Battle of the Bastards but had refused to bend the knee to the Starks – so Jon had sent the man to take the black.

Sansa nodded, letting a small smile wash over her stony face. “I am sorry to intrude, Lady Karstark. I did not know anyone would be here.” she stated plainly, walking over to stand beside the girl. Alys was a younger woman, thin and petite. Her dress flowed smoothly over her lithe body and her dark brown eyes stared at Sansa with a mixture of fear and admiration.

Sansa had disagreed strongly with Jon's choice to forgive House Karstark and had advocated attaining the house altogether for their betrayal of their family – but she could not help feeling a twinge of regret now that the girl stood before her. _She's frightened of me and Jon. That much is clear._

“Tell me Lady Alys, are you enjoying your time at Winterfell?” Sansa smiled, turning to the heart tree. “I am told Karhold's godswood is far bigger then this, so I apologize if it is inadequate.”

Alys shook her head in the negative. “Oh, no – not at all. Ours is bigger, yes but our heart tree is really...it's smaller and has a more sinister face. My father likened it to a scowl when I was a girl to scare me.” she whispered shyly.

“Tell me, Lady Karstark. How does it feel – to be elevated to the head of your house?” Sansa needed to really fish out the girl – find out how she would rule. The North was not like King's Landing, so she could be far more direct – which in it's own way was a relief.

The girl was trembling as she looked down at the ground. “It...I don't know. I know my f-family betrayed yours and I was supposed to b-be your hostage, but King Jon told me that h-he won't keep me here.” she stammered softly. “My father never really taught me h-how to rule and lead.”

Sansa reached out with a hand and patted the girl's bony shoulder. “I'll be honest, Lady Karstark.” she began, putting on a soft and sympathetic smile. “I didn't agree with the King's choice to forgive your House entirely. After all the Karstarks owe their existence to House Stark – but perhaps I was wrong. You seem to be nothing like your brother.”

Alys continued to tremble and Sansa saw a few tears fall from her face. “H-Harald was always more worried about himself. H-he wanted to impress our father because he was the y-youngest son.” The girl exhaled softly, seemingly trying to steady herself. “I know that I c-can't take back what my family did, Lady Sansa. But I-I promise that I won't forget the kindness King Jon showed m-me.”

“I know that my brother Robb took your father's head.” Sansa sighed, patting the girl's shoulder in a comforting manner. “But please understand – he did it because your father slew two boys. They were younger then...then my brother Rickon.”

Alys nodded. “I k-know. My father was always l-loud and boisterous. He never really t-thought about things, but after Harrion and Torrhen were killed he g-got even worse. He would s-send us ravens every now and then and they would j-just be rambling about how he was going to kill the Lannisters, all of t-them.”

The girl sniffled softly, trying to suck in her sobs. “I j-just want things to be normal between us. I'm tired o-of being afraid to be here. My father always t-told me stories about how great the Starks were and h-how I should try to marry into the family one day.”

“If you need to cry Alys, please do.” Sansa smiled, encouraging the girl. “I feel no hatred for you, I promise.”

Alys nodded, looking up at her and wiping her eyes with a cloth she procured from her dress. “I don't know much about r-ruling but Maester Svennek has promised to help me with the day to day things once I g-get back to Karhold. Also, the King has p-promised to find me a good match if I so desire.”

Sansa nodded. “I am sure you would make a wonderful wife for any husband.”

“Thank you for speaking to me, Lady Sansa.” Alys curtsied. “I...I appreciate it more then you might t-think.” she finished, walking brusquely out of the godswood.

Sansa chuckled to herself as she watched the girl go. _Poor thing,_ she mused. _I'm sure in time she will be a great ruler. Perhaps Jon was right to make these decisions – not everything has to be harsh and unrelenting._

She departed the godswood after a moment of reflection.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon thinks about Sansa even when he tries to distract himself.

Jon sat in Winterfell's courtyard, watching as Harmond continued to play with Tormund's daughters. The boy seemed to enjoy the company of the girls as they had been constant play mates since the Umber delegation had arrived.

Reaching to his left Jon took a gulp of ale from his mug. No matter how much he tried to focus on other things – from relations with other Houses to disputes between the Free Folk, he could not get Sansa off of his mind.

The kiss that they had shared in the Great Hall still lingered on his lips. Jon's mind ached desperately – part of him wanted to run away, far away and forget what had happened. To bury his head in the snow with shame and revulsion. But another part wanted more – needed more. _Sansa deserves to be happy,_ Jon reflected. He knew that if the powers that be mainly Lord Baelish had their way, she would be en route to the Vale to marry either the lord himself or Robin Arryn.

The thought alone disgusted him, and Jon vowed to keep her safe. Even still, questions burned up inside of him. _How can I keep her safe when I lust after her? Why am I such a bastard? I should know better. Why do I want this?_ And as usual he had no answer. Jon fondly thought back to Ygritte and her oft-repeated statement of 'you know nothing, Jon Snow.'

_You're right, Ygritte. I do know nothing._

“My lord!” a voice brought Jon back from his reverie. Looking to his left he watched as Harmond jumped onto the bench where he sat and settled in next to him. The boy's hair was ruffled and his clothes were covered in dirt and snow. Jon laughed at the sight of the messy lord.

“Harmond – why are you so dirty?” Jon teased, ruffling the boy's hair. “You know your steward doesn't like when you get like that.” The steward in question, a grumpy old greybeard stood at the far end of the courtyard, a perpetual scowl on his face. The man appeared to be a statue with the way he acted – never moving, and always watching.

The boy shrugged. “I was playing with the girls. You know how tag can be – rough!” the boy grinned up at him. “Are you okay, King Jon? You look like you're mad.”

Jon smiled, taking another swig of ale. “Oh – yes, Harmond I'm alright. Just have a lot to think about, you know being King and all.” _I'm in love with my half-sister. If that's not a lot to think about I don't know what is._

“You're doing a good job! Everyone seems so happy. All the adults are busy doing their chores and the kids like me have lots of room to play. It's nice here.” the boy smiled, wiping the dirt from his clothes as best he could. “I got to meet Alys today. She's nice – but she always looks sad.”

Jon nodded. Lady Karstark did always appear to be upset about something – the poor girl practically shook with fear every time Jon even looked at her – and he felt nothing but pity for the situation she found herself in. _Leading a great house at fifteen – I can only imagine. “_ Well, Harmond – when you have a lot of people to make happy it's a scary thought for us adults.”

“My grandpa always used to say that the best leaders needed to show no fear or else people wouldn't look to them in a cry-sis.” the boy nodded, smiling confidently. “I'm sure Alys's grandpa gave her the same advise.”

Jon nodded, keeping his smile locked on his face for the sake of the boy more then anything. Every time he closed his eyes or allowed his thoughts to wander, he saw her in his mind's eye. She was a goddess worthy of nothing but reverence and worship of the highest level – and who was he? A bastard half-brother, giving into his lust and dark thoughts for his own sister.

_What would you think of me now, Father?_ “Your grandfather must have been very smart, Harmond. You're learning all the things you need to be a lord already.” Jon exclaimed, causing the boy's face to light up.

“Really? I just liked listening to him. He was so big and strong and tall. My dad wasn't tall like him, though he always told me that I would be even taller then Grandpa.”

“Maybe you will be!” Jon grinned, causing Harmond to laugh. The boy was fairly tall for a seven-year old, Jon noted – and he'd heard enough stories about the late Greatjon Umber to know that the man was practically a giant. “Well, Harmond – why don't you go play and when you're done, we'll tell you another story about House Stark. How's that?”

The boy's grin couldn't be any larger. “You're the best, King Jon!” he shouted with joy as he bounded off the bench and ran towards the Free Folk children, already laughing and playing tag. Jon closed his eyes only to be greeted again by the faint image of red hair, flowing majestically in the wind.

“Sansa..” Jon whispered, thankful no one was around to hear him.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa makes a late night visit to Jon's chambers. Smut ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned, smut ahoy! Not much in terms of graphic detail but there is love making in this. I hope you guys enjoy again as this is a new style of writing for me. <3

Her breathing quickened as Sansa felt her heart beating faster. She stood outside the double doors leading to the Lord's Chamber, where Jon was likely getting ready for bed. She trembled ever so slightly as she tried to knock on the door, her hands failing her. Her heart was telling her one thing yet her mind another. _Damn it, girl! Pull yourself together!_

 _We need this. I need this._ Sansa tried to compose herself, straightening her dress and idly fluffing her hair. Even still her body would not move. She knew that her actions inside of his room would determine what would happen between them. Her mind scolded her that anything that happened was wrong, it was disgusting and sinful – and she would burn for it. Yet her heart encouraged her, reminding her of the kiss – somehow she now tasted him on her lips as she gulped silently.

 _I am Sansa Stark. I decide my destiny._ But what would be her destiny if she did this? Being in love with her half-brother, someone who had been raised as a sibling with her alongside the others? If they were caught, the repercussions would be catastrophic. It would be as likely that they would be exiled at best, put to death at worst. Was she willing to die for a forbidden love?

Yet whenever she closed her eyes, all she saw was his face. It was beginning to drive her to the brink of insanity – her sleeping having been negatively affected by the constant dreams of Jon and his kiss. She needed to resolve this here and now. One way or the other.

Her body finally cooperated and she rapped quietly on the door. “Jon. It's Sansa.” she whispered.

* * *

The door opened slightly as Jon poked his head out, a small smile upon his lips. “Oh! Sansa – come on in, please.” he gestured, opening the door fully. As she entered, her body trembled with nerves as she took in the smells – Jon's smells. It was almost too much to bear for her as she swayed on her feet, causing Jon to rush to her side, grasping her by the arm gently.

“Are you alright? Do you need me to get Maester Wolkan? Jon questioned worriedly. He quickly guided her to sit down on the edge of his bed. As he released his hold on her arm Sansa brought her own hand up to touch where he'd touched. The warmth lingered, bringing an intense buzz to her mind.

“No, Jon. I'm alright.” Sansa nodded, keeping her face as plain and neutral as possible. _I can't let him see me like this,_ she reasoned. _He would be ashamed of me. I'm a broken wreck, a blubbering and broken wreck because of you._

Jon went over to the fireplace, where a letter sat on the mantle. “A raven came just an hour ago.” he nodded, holding up the parchment. “Daenerys Targaryen has made landfall and taken Dragonstone. Apparently the garrison surrendered without a fight.”

Sansa inhaled sharply. Everyone in the North knew of the last Targaryen and her exploits. How she had conquered the whole of Slaver's Bay on the backs of her dragons, creatures extinct for hundreds of years. How she commanded whole fleets of ships and hundreds of thousands of fanatical warriors.

 _She wants to take the Seven Kingdoms._ “How many men does she have?” Sansa asked cautiously. She felt as though she knew the answer; far more then the North could hope to fight against. And that was not counting the dragons.

“She has the support of the Reach and Dorne as well as a significant portion of the Iron Islands. At least a hundred thousand soldiers, if not more.” Jon sighed, throwing the letter back onto the mantle. “I'll have to break the news to the council in the morning.”

Sansa rose to her feet and walked over to Jon's side. His scent once again threatened to overwhelm her, but this time she was able to keep her composure. “You will do fine Jon. I have complete faith in you.” she smiled, softly placing a hand on his back.

Jon flinched at her touch, looking back to her. A pregnant pause filled the room as they stared into each other's eyes, with time seeming to slow to a crawl. The silence was only broken by the thumping sound the wall made as they crashed against it, kissing each other deeply.

Jon's hands ran along Sansa's body while she grabbed and pulled at his shirt. Jon paused and removed his lips from her own, causing her to let out a hungry whine at the lack of his touch. “The door,” he grunted as he jogged over and locked it tight, causing Sansa to giggle.

They resumed their embrace just moments later, Jon grasping one of her legs and running a hand up her dress. Sansa moaned, ruffling Jon's hair with her free hands. His kisses moved downward to her neck, where he gingerly caressed her skin with his tongue.

“Jon...oh, Jon..” she whispered, shivering with desire. “Take m-me to bed...”

 _Nothing else was so sweet. Nothing else mattered now._ Jon nodded, grasping her by the waist and pushing her down onto the bed. Sansa felt her body tingle as her mind raced, berating her for what was happening. _You stupid, stupid girl. You're throwing everything away for something that cannot be._

By the time Jon had removed his clothes and pulled back her dress, her womanhood was wet with desire. “Take me, Jon..please..” she moaned, her voice choking with a sob. A concerned look came over his face as she spoke.

“Sansa...we don't have to do this..”

 _He is giving me control._ “I want to. I want n-nothing more in this world Jon. I don't care if it's wrong...I need you so bad..” she whined again, spreading her legs as far as they would go. This was an obscene sight, but Jon drank in her body as drool slobbered down his lips.

He entered her after only a moment's hesitation, his cock sliding deep inside of her folds. His thrusts were gentle and calm, and he looked down at Sansa on the bed as she panted and moaned. His eyes filled with gentle tears as they continued to rock together, Sansa writhing under him. “Sansa...” Jon moaned.

“Jon...” she whispered, her own eyes filling with tears. “I'm close...oh, Jon..” she sighed as she felt herself spend, biting down on a stray sheet to suppress her cry. Jon continued to thrust inside of her, the speed of his lovemaking only increasing as she came.

They stared into each others eyes as they engaged in this obscenity. If they would burn, they would burn together. Sansa let out a joyful moan as she felt Jon spend inside of her, his hands fisting the sheets on the bed as his own orgasm rocked his body.

They lay ontop of one another panting and moaning as Jon pulled some furs up over their joined bodies. “This was...a mistake..” Jon managed to whisper, his breath still hot and shaky.

Sansa nodded, but leaned up to kiss him again, to taste his lips and tongue. “I don't care, Jon. I...want you. I need you, laws and rules be damned.” she sighed, sobbing gently into his neck.

“You'll have me, Sansa. Rules b-be damned.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and the council meet to discuss Daenerys Targaryen's arrival. Oh, and Jon is a bit angst-ridden and conflicted.

The news of Daenerys Targaryen's landfall was now out in the open. Jon had revealed the news that morning just has planned. With Sansa at his side, the leaders of the North now discussed the possibilities laid out before them.

“We need to bolster our defences at the Neck. That's obviously where the invasion will come from. Moat Cailin is free of the ironborn, so now we need to send a host to defend it.” That was from Lord Hornwood, sitting to Jon's right.

“I disagree. Your Grace, we don't need to do anything. The Targaryens aren't very big fans of Cersei Lannister – I say let them fight it out. Any movements on our part would be seen as a provocation.” Lord Mazin to Jon's left spoke next.

Jon did his best to listen to every word, every opinion and every argument as Davos, Tormund and the others spoke, discussed, debated and proposed but his mind refused to filter everything as best as it should. He was still wracked with emotions about last night – the night he spent with Sansa.

_You are a bastard, through and through._ Part of his mind was utterly disgusted with him – especially for spending inside of her, of all things. What if he was to get her with child? _You're just as bad as the Lannisters now, Jon Snow. Bastard._

The nerves had made Jon skip breakfast and he'd vomited twice this morning, out of sheer panic for his situation. He loved Sansa and she loved him. They both said as much last night – that they needed each other. But would their love be able to carry them through an illicit and forbidden affair such as this? Another part of his mind encouraged it. _Cersei and the Kingslayer were able to get away with it for decades, even. Why not?_

Beside him Sansa offered her own insights. “We need to make contact with the Targaryen woman. My lords – and Tormund – winter is here. We all know what is coming our way thanks in part to the King's words. Alone, what chance have we against an army of the dead?” Sansa's voice was commanding and firm – and by the Gods, Jon loved when she spoke this way. It made his breeches tighten even now, much to his embarrassment.

“You know what the woman'll want, Your Grace.” Davos spoke now, gently tapping his fingertips on the table. “Bend the knee and we'll have her help.”

“The hell with that!” bellowed Lord Hornwood. “The North is free, once and for all. No southern lord or lady will rule us again.”

Sansa nodded. “We can at least speak to her. Try to come to some sort of arrangement. It is as you said, Lord Mazin – the Lannisters and Targaryens are at war. We know that Cersei will never help the North – and I don't think any of us here would accept her help. But this Daenerys may be different.”

Jon knew this would be the best course of action for them to take. If there was any hope of an alliance with the Targaryens, it would be a valuable help in staving off the Long Night – after all if the North were to fall, all of Westeros would as well. “Three dragons. Tormund – remind our lords what weaknesses the dead have?”

Tormund snorted. “Fire.” he grumbled, belching loudly.

“Fire. Now, imagine if we are able to get these dragons to the North. Imagine what they could do to the Night King's army. Wipe it out. Destroy it, utterly. It would allow us the room we need to go forward and destroy him, once and for all.” Jon's mind imagined the sight of three full-grown dragons burning thousands of wights in a single gout of flame.

A thoughtful look came over the room save Tormund, who looked ready to fall asleep. “I'll get Maester Wolkan to send a raven to Dragonstone, then.” Jon nodded to the table. “We'll make her an offer to negotiate. Find something she wants other then us bending the knee.”

“We haven't knelt to you, Jon Snow. I'm not kneeling to no Targar-whatever and her dragons.” Tormund exclaimed, drawing a smattering of laughter.

Rising to his feet, Jon waved a hand. “If you'll excuse me, I need to speak to Lady Sansa in private.” As the room emptied out, Sansa got to her feet and looked towards him, biting down gently on her lower lip.

Jon's heart raced as he watched her – the minx, teasing him even here – even right now. Making sure the room was empty Jon grasped her by the waist and kissed her, drinking in the sight of her, the sounds and the smell.

“We...we should sup tonight. Together. Privately, I mean.” Jon whispered, nodding as he broke the embrace. A sheepish grin was plastered on his face as he spoke.

Sansa laughed, running a hand across Jon's cheek. “But of course, Your Grace.” she smirked, pausing her hand over his mouth. Jon kissed the tips of her fingers as she did so, finding himself entranced by her very touch. _She will ruin me and does it feel good._

_You are a bastard. A sister-fucking, Wildling loving bastard._

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa discuss Daenerys in a more intimate setting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time, but just some fluffy time between the two forbidden lovers. :) I'm glad for the positive feedback - keep it coming from every which way! I love comments and stuff. <3

“I can't leave now, Sansa. Not while so much is happening here.” Jon exclaimed, running a hand down the small of her back as she curled up next to him in the bed. They'd been in the Lord's Chamber for hours – and while their rendezvous were always discreet and never more then one night per week it was hard to keep things truly quiet when they became heated.

Sansa peppered Jon's neck in kisses as she shook her head. “You have to go, Jon. You saw the raven – she wants to meet with the King in the North in person to discuss things. We need Daenerys and her dragons – you said it yourself.”

_I hate when she's right_ , Jon sighed to himself. “I just...I don't want to leave you. Forget the North, forget the dragons – I just can't stomach the thought of being away especially after we just got back here.”

  _Especially now with what we're doing._ The thought went unsaid but the feelings were there between them. This was perhaps the most dangerous action either of them had ever undertaken. No battle or fight between any foe, politically or physically could compare to the act of two siblings in bed together. Of two siblings spending inside one another.

_I wonder what Lady Catelyn would think of us now..._

_Either way I don't care. She is mine and I am hers._

 Sansa smiled up at him, running a slender hand down his chest. “I know, Jon. But look at it this way – I know you are coming back. And it's not like you have to steal away in the dead of night either. The lords of the North know you are going to treat with her. They wouldn't dare make a move whilst you are gone.”

Jon inhaled deeply – the smell of sex was overwhelming between them. Even still he could make out the smells of Sansa herself – the faint lavender and lemon that he loved. Their love was not proper, not even allowed by any decent human being yet here and now, they were the only two that mattered. “And besides,” Sansa snickered, laying her head against his chest, “I can take care of myself Jon. You know that.”

Jon laughed. “Oh, of that I have no doubt. I just...every time one of us has gone south it's not gone well. You, Arya, Father, Robb – the list goes on and on.” _Though the both of us know the dangers now. And we have a million and one reasons to come back._

“We've both got the experience to not follow in their footsteps, don't we?” she quipped, sighing contently as she listened to the rise and fall of his chest.

“I don't know about me – but you certainly do.” Jon had no illusions that he was a terrible politician. Sansa, though – she had the brains and cunning needed to wage the mental battles against those who's intellect was their strength. “I'm not cunning and smart as you, love.”

Sansa looked up at him and ran her fingers through his hair. “Jon, you and I have different strengths and weaknesses. I don't know the first thing about leading armies or commanding the loyalty of soldiers as you do. You are a born leader of men. Just because you lack the...political acumen that I've learned during my time South does not make you unworthy or anything, silly.”

Jon grinned at her, feeling his heart grow heavy with her praise. “And you, my darling – well, what's there to say? You are the reason we're here today. You are brave, beautiful, smart and daring.” He grasped her by the cheeks and kissed her gently, eliciting a moan of delight from her lips. “I suppose I can't say no to you, can I?”

“Oh, you could – but I don't think the lords would appreciate us ignoring the Dragon Queen's offer.” she replied, running her tongue down Jon's neck, causing him to shiver in delight.

“Tell you what..” Jon exhaled sharply as she continued her assault upon him. “T-tomorrow I'll begin to make plans for the v-voyage. But one thing - I'm leaving Ghost here to help you with any troublesome...shall we say, suitors?”

Sansa giggled as she climbed back ontop of him. “That sounds fair to me.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa reflects on Jon. Winterfell gets a surprise visitor.

Sansa found herself thinking of him constantly. It had not gotten any better since they had begun their forbidden affair – in fact, the ache in her body continued to intensify the more she was away from him. Part of her wanted to cry out, to condemn herself for being a stupid fool. _Love like this doesn't exist, Sansa. You've experienced that first hand. This is the price of your debauchery and sin._

Yet if this was the price of her sin, she would live with it – as much as she possibly could. Rising to her feet, she went to the window and observed the various scenes below her – mostly servants and builders repairing the walls around the keep. Jon wanted to be out there preparing with them, but Sansa had convinced him to prepare for his voyage south as soon as he could.

It hurt her to realize that Jon would be gone, likely for a great deal of time. But she knew that for the sake of the North – the sake of her and House Stark itself – he needed to gain the support of House Targaryen. As the cool wind blew into her hair, Sansa let it wash over her exposed skin. Her skin still tickled ever so briefly from where Jon had kissed her and left his gentle bites during their lovemaking – the warm feeling she got when he did this helped her to forget the scars of Ramsay Bolton and his...methods.

The thought of her deceased husband brought nothing but hot rage to her mind. She had ensured he paid dearly for what he had done to her – and to poor Rickon. But no amount of death or suffering could truly bring back what he stole from her family and from her personally. He had been defiant to the end, even taunting her just as he was set upon by the dogs. Sansa's mind again grew conflicted; part of her screamed that she was broken, damaged and useless thanks to that man. Yet another part told her that she was being healed slowly, through having come home and through having found Jon.

Exhaling sharply, Sansa allowed her fingers to run down her neck, finding one of the small marks where Jon had kissed her. Just touching it brought the sounds and smells of him back to her – even now as he was busy ruling. It was enough to sustain her as she went about her days work.

Of course her mind turned then to a man she never wanted to see again. A raven had come from Castle Cerwyn that morning announcing that Petyr Baelish was en route back to Winterfell and that he'd arrive within the week. Sansa wanted nothing more then to take off Littlefinger's head with Jon's sword. But she knew the type of person he was, and given her experiences in the south she left nothing to chance.

_I'll play along for now – but I promise you that I will never be yours._ In her own way Sansa had to thank him, however. He had shown her the art of the games he played – and allowed Sansa to play them, too. Of course the only reason he'd shown her such was so that she would become his disciple, his follower. _And lover,_ she mused. Yet he was a man who had sold her to the Boltons, who had orchestrated death and chaos and destruction for nothing but himself. He would see the North devoured by the Others if it suited him.

She would put on the interested usurped daughter. Like it as not, Baelish had one weakness – her. Sansa allowed a smirk to come to her face. _Let him feel he's got me. Let him lower himself ever so slightly so I can twist the knife into his back._ She knew that he wanted to unseat Jon as King and install her in his place. But Jon was family – in more ways then one – and she would not allow anyone to destroy what was being rebuilt, ever so slowly.

Of course, she had felt somewhat upset at first when none of the North seemed to credit her for coming to Jon's aid with the Vale army. But her anger had quickly dissipated when she'd got news from Davos that Jon had sent ravens to every house in the North, demanding them to write and gift tribute to Sansa Stark – the Lady of Winterfell. She allowed herself a slight giggle as she remembered the sheepish lords and their honeyed words.

There was nothing Jon would not do for her. She smelled him again and sighed happily.

A gentle snowfall was beginning to take hold as Sansa reflected, but as she went to close the window she heard a commotion stir from the gates. Curiously she watched as they opened to reveal a single solitary figure, who was quickly attended to by a host of curious onlookers.

_What was going on?_ A knock at the door interrupted her reverie. “Lady Stark!” came the voice of a serving man. “It's your sister Lady Arya. She's just come back home.” the man echoed. Sansa could hardly hear his words as she pushed passed him and launched herself down the stairs.

* * *

 

Down in the courtyard she found Jon, who was locked in a tight embrace with their sister. Arya was still a short thing – but her hair was longer and she was clearly older, having developed a woman's body. Servants and soldiers alike watched with both bewilderment and joy as Jon sobbed into her neck. Sansa's body trembled as she gazed towards Arya, who's eyes quickly locked with her own.

She didn't remember launching herself forward and screaming her sister's name, causing Arya to let go of Jon and dash towards her. They met in a wild hug, with Sansa's mind racing as she began to sob loudly. Arya squeaked as Sansa picked her up off the ground, spinning her wildly. As she did so Jon came over to them, his eyes stained with dry tears.

“It's really you..” he gasped, wiping his hand on his eyes.

“It's me.” Arya whispered into Sansa's neck, grinning wickedly.

“Arya....oh, Arya...” Sansa sobbed happily as she wavered. Jon caught her as she started to feel faint. “No one...no one's seen you since King's Landing...”

“It's been a while, hasn't it?” Arya laughed, her own eyes now growing wet. “I missed you too, Sans.” Sansa choked up again at the nickname; Arya always called her that. It brought back a flood of memories of before they had been separated.

“Let's get inside, shall we?” Jon piped up, sniffling once more. “We've got a lot to talk about. And I'm s-sure you're hungry.”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon, Sansa and Arya catch up in the Great Hall as Jon prepares to depart.

“You know I have to go, Arya.” Jon chuckled as he polished the gorget.

Arya was clearly not happy at the news of Jon's imminent departure. “It's not fair, Jon!” she protested, sighing audibly. “I just got back home and I find out that you're leaving to talk to some dragon lady?!”

Jon rolled his eyes in a playful manner – but in truth, he understood her protests. The three siblings had spent the day talking about each other and what they had been up to for all of the years they had spent apart. Arya had become a skilled swordsman, Jon had come to find out – she was able to disarm even the heartiest of Free Folk who'd volunteered to spar with her.

Much to Jon's delight was the fact she'd kept Needle, the sword he'd crafted for her just before he departed for the Wall. She wore it proudly around her waist no matter what other attire she chose. “It's saved my life on more then one occasion.” she'd told him. “I'll never leave it.”

They had also gone to visit the crypts so Arya could pay respects to their father, Robb and Rickon. It was a solemn moment for them as they cried fresh tears for the family they had lost. Jon none the less had reassured Arya that no one else would be lost again – and that he would return from Dragonstone, no matter what obstacles may present themselves.

Sansa sat next to Jon as she watched him clean his armor. “You'll be stuck with me, Arya. Aren't you happy?” she snickered as her sister rolled her eyes.

“Oh yes – so happy.” She elbowed Jon in the leg, causing him to grunt in protest. “You're doing this to me on purpose aren't you?”

“It's all a big conspiracy Arya – you've found me out!” Jon exclaimed as he rose to place the gorget back with his other armor pieces. “Actually, I didn't want to go. Blame Sansa for that!” he teased, shooting a wink towards her.

“Jon!” Sansa snorted indignantly. “You are the King in the North, you have to attend to this personally!” She rolled her eyes and shot a smirk towards him.

Arya laughed, biting into another loaf of bread. At her feet Ghost whined pathetically as he waited for someone – anyone – to provide him some morsels. Jon had to laugh at this as he leaned down to pat the direwolf.

“No bread for you, boy. It gives you gas.” he snickered.

The wolf whined and put his head back down. “So, who are you bringing along on this epic quest?” Arya questioned as she went to nuzzle Ghost's neck.

_An epic quest alright,_ Jon mused. _To leave my home, my people – my lover. To go South just like Father did. Just like Robb and Sansa did. Look and what happens when our family leaves the North. Death and misery and pain._ He gazed into Sansa's eyes as he sat back down on the bench. Arya was busy petting Ghost, so she was unable to see.

Sansa stared back at him, her lips curling in a small smile. She gently brought a hand up to rest over her chest, roughly where the heart is located. She then pointed at him with said hand. _Her heart is mine._ Jon did the same with his hand and for a brief moment he saw Sansa's eyes glow gently with wetness.

“Jon?” Arya popped back up, tilting her head at him. “Did we lose him?” she exclaimed to Sansa, who laughed.

“Hm – oh, sorry. I was lost in thought.” he shrugged, reaching over to gulp down the last of his mug of ale. “Sansa and I figure that a small party would be best so as to reduce any complications. I'll take one ship out of White Harbor – Lord Manderly's already promised his fastest one – and a small honor guard. Ser Davos as well, given the Stormlands was his home for a long time.”

“And what are you going to tell the Targaryen lady? You better not bend your knee or anything stupid like that.” Arya warned, wagging a finger in Jon's direction.

Jon snickered. A serving girl refilled his mug as he drank deeply from it. “I'll tell her the truth. That the Others are coming with an army of the endless dead, and the only real way that Westeros can hope to survive the Long Night is to have her dragons at the front lines, here in the North. If that doesn't persuade her, well – we'll have to find something to sweeten the pot that doesn't involve me kneeling.”

_By the Gods, Tormund is rubbing off on you._

 “She should come around,” Sansa sighed, idly running a hand through her hair. “If the North falls then Westeros has no chance. We have to stop the invasion here and now. Jon's been beyond the Wall. He's fought the Others. Without him at the head of our offensive then we may as well just flee for Essos now.”

Jon waved over a serving man. “Can you take this up to my chambers please? Just leave it anywhere.” The man bowed and scooped up Jon's jacket and boots, carrying them away. Other servants came to assist in carrying the rest of his armor out of the hall. “Sansa's right, Arya. If this Dragon Queen has any sense in her mind she'll see the need for us to work together.”

“We'll be ready for them, Jon. No need to worry.” Arya smirked, shooting a wink his way. “Dragons, demons, undead – all we have to do is follow your lead and stick 'em with the pointy end.”

Jon laughed heartily at her words. “It's good to have you back, Arya.” Rising to his feet, Jon looked about the empty hall. “I need to go for a walk and stretch my legs. All this sitting around is making me listless. Coming, you two?” he nodded to the girls.

Arya shrugged. “I was hoping to stay and spend time with Ghost here. I've missed having a pet around!” she smirked, kneeling on the ground and petting the direwolf, who grunted happily and licked her affectionately.

“Sure. Sansa?” As she got to her feet Jon had to resist the urge to gasp. He loved the slow, sultry movements that she made – her dress hiking up ever so slightly as she stood up, showing off just a hint of her milky thigh.

“Won't be long, Arya.” she leaned down and kissed the top of her head, eliciting a groan of annoyance causing Sansa to laugh.

* * *

As they left the hall the two veered to the left, towards a darkened storage room that sat unused by the servants still. Jon pushed Sansa against the wall ever so gently and kissed her as she ran her hands through his hair and down his back. They stayed like this for several precious moments, lips locked together as they moaned, enjoying the feel and smell of one another.

“I'm so happy she's back..” Sansa mumbled after they broke apart, nuzzling her head against Jon's shoulder. “Everything is starting to come together – at least now.”

Jon nodded, his lips finding Sansa's neck as he gently kissed her pale skin. “It'll never come apart, my love...I promise.” he whispered, his kisses eliciting gentle gasps from her lips. “I just would rather stay here. With you and Arya.”

Sansa grinned, nipping playfully at Jon's ear. “I know you would. Don't you think I'd rather have that too? But you are King and a King must act like one. At least some of the time.” she ran her tongue down Jon's own neck.

Jon let out a low moan of his own. “We...we shouldn't stay away long. Don't want the little warrior to get suspicious.” he laughed as he placed a gentle love bite to Sansa's neck. The pair broke their embrace and proceeded back towards the hall.

“Jon?” Sansa stopped him just a few steps from the doors. She leaned her lips against his ear. “You are mine and I am yours.”

Jon nodded and placed a chaste kiss to her cheek, whispering the words back to her as he did so.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys Targaryen meets with her advisers to discuss Jon Snow and the Starks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first attempt at writing a Dany POV, so I hope it's not too awful. :)

The waters outside of Dragonstone were choppy and rough, with waves crashing against the rocks and splashing against the sandy beach-head. Even still the sight was almost hypnotic for Daenerys Targaryen, her eyes mesmerized by the rhythm of the waves. _It was here that Aegon the Conqueror began his journey, and it is here that I will begin mine._

Off in the distance beyond the coastline sat the majority of the Targaryen fleet, the three-headed dragon sails flying proudly in the wind. The cool afternoon breeze caused her hair to flutter as she smiled, turning away from her observations and returning inside to the Painted Table, the map of Westeros that her ancestor used to plan his invasion.

Inside the hall her advisers waited, obediently standing at attention. To her left was her Hand, Tyrion Lannister. _I don't know what I would do without him,_ she mused. To think that the son of Tywin Lannister would be responsible for helping her get this far was almost unthinkable just half a year ago, but now she understood how valuable to her cause he was.

On Tyrion's right stood Lord Varys. The man was an enigma at the best of times; he had served her father followed by Robert Baratheon as well as his late son Joffrey before departing for Meereen with Tyrion after the latter's assassination of his father. None the less, Tyrion had vouched for him claiming that he had been ever loyal to seeing the dragon return to Westeros – he simply was playing the game of politics that he was ever adept with.

Finally to her right sat Missandei, one of her closest and longest serving advisers. The woman who had once been little more then a translator serving cruel slave masters was now a free woman, who stood beside the Mother of Dragons and gave every bit of her strengths to her. She had grown to become Daenerys's true friend in the harsh times they had faced together.

Scrolls and various parchments adorned the Painted Table as Daenerys took her seat, her advisers following her lead. Tyrion looked to her with a knowing smile as she nodded towards him, ready to begin the day's meetings. _Dragonstone is nothing like Meereen,_ she mused. The castle had been held by soldiers loyal to Robert's late brother Stannis Baratheon, who had apparently met his end in the North at the hands of House Bolton. The garrison had surrendered without a fight and sworn allegiance to her.

She'd pardoned the men and allowed those who wished to remain to serve the Targaryens while those who did not were free to return to their homes in peace. They had done nothing wrong but serve their liege lord – and she did not feel right to punish them. _A dragon must temper fire with mercy._

“Well, shall we begin?” she inquired, turning to the trio and nodding.

It was Tyrion who spoke first. “Of course, Your Grace. I'm pleased to report that the last of the Dothraki have disembarked and are now settled within Dragonstone and the surrounding fields. Grey Worm has posted some of his Unsullied in their camps to ensure they do not you know, do as Dothraki are wont to do.”

The massive army of Dothraki who had followed her across the Narrow Sea were a valuable asset but were also a liability due to their brutality and unpredictable nature. Despite her orders forbidding them from pillage and rape, Daenerys was no fool. She knew they would be difficult to control at the best of times.

“The Greyjoy and Martell fleets are en route to Dorne at your command. Lady Ellaria has informed me she's been able to raise another twenty thousand levies, all under your command. Lady Yara and her fleet will assist in ferrying them here to avoid the prying eyes of my dear sister.”

Daenerys was pleased by this news. “Anything to keep Cersei Lannister in the dark is welcome news, Tyrion.” she smiled.

“As well, Lady Tyrell has reached Highgarden safely and has called her banners.” Tyrion finished, waving a hand across the table. “All in all, your army will be growing much larger in the coming weeks, my Queen.”

_What would you say to me now, Viserys?_ Daenerys thought back to her brother, who despite his instability and mistreatment was still family to her. She remembered fondly the boy that he was, not the man that he grew to be. He had protected her when she was a weak little thing, not understanding anything to do with the world. Now he was gone and she was on the verge of reclaiming their family throne.

“Any news from King's Landing? From Cersei, perhaps?” she questioned, watching as her Hand's face grew darker at the words. She knew how much Tyrion despised his family, Cersei most of all. None the less, Tyrion was a Lannister of Casterly Rock – and it was still hard for him to fight against those he once called 'brother' and 'sister'.

“Apparently, 'Queen' Cersei has replaced almost all of the goldcloaks with Lannister men from Casterly Rock.” he grumbled, biting down on his lip in annoyance. “She's also blockaded the Blackwater with the fleet from Lannisport – which leaves the Westerlands totally undefended from the sea.”

“She knows her position is vulnerable, Khaleesi.” Missandei nodded, looking towards the map. “She wishes to make this a costly fight for you.”

“Why shouldn't she? The woman's practically insane. Blowing up the Great Sept of Baelor? Even I thought my dearest sister could get no lower. But apparently there are no longer any limits to her depravity.” Tyrion sighed, shaking his head.

“She will pay for the deaths she has caused Tyrion – you have my word.” Daenerys reached out and put her hand over his, smiling towards him. The Hand allowed himself to reciprocate with a slight curling of his lips.

“Far be it for me to interrupt – but perhaps speaking of something other then Cersei Lannister may help lighten the mood?” Lord Varys chirped, nodding his head sympathetically towards Tyrion. “If my Queen wishes, that is.”

Daenerys nodded. “By all means Lord Varys, continue.”

“We have received word from the North. My little birds tell me that Jon Snow will be travelling from White Harbor to treat with us himself, just as the Queen requested.”

* * *

_What to do about this_ , Daenerys mused. Jon Snow – bastard son of the late Eddard Stark – was proclaimed King in the North. By rights, the North belonged to her as part of the Seven Kingdoms. But the North was leagues away – and as Tyrion had rightly pointed out, it would be dangerously costly to attempt to claim it through warfare. _I will meet with him and convince him to kneel to me as the last King in the North knelt to Aegon. If he refuses, well – the Field of Fire is still known to the rest of Westeros._

“Tell me everything you know about him. Both of you.” she ordered, drumming her fingers on the table.

“The last time I saw him he was at Castle Black preparing to swear the vows of the Night's Watch.” Tyrion admitted, brows furrowing in confusion. “As far as I am aware the vows of a Night's Watch brother are for life – so I am not sure how he managed to become King in the North.”

“So he is a deserter.”

Tyrion raised his hands in protest. “I did not say that, My Queen. Jon Snow as I knew him was a determined young man. He was ready to dedicate his life to an order of bandits, thieves and murderers for the good of the realm. I do not think he would have simply run away. Something must have happened up there – something that I am sure he will explain to us when he arrives.”

Varys was next to speak, his smile gentle and warm. “My little birds tell me a wild tale about him. The North calls him The White Wolf – they say that he is Eddard Stark, reborn again. It is said he is also the greatest swordsman alive today, second only to his late father.” The eunuch shrugged. “The boy has become larger then life to the rest of the Northmen, so it seems.”

“If he is like Eddard Stark, why should I treat with him at all? It was Eddard Stark who helped Robert Baratheon force my family into exile all those years ago.” she spat, irritation building in the back of her mind. “I am tired of having to make excuses for those who have wronged my family.”

“My Queen, you must understand.” Varys continued, nodding sympathetically towards her. “Eddard Stark was much beloved by the North, and he only fought against House Targaryen due to the tragic incidents involving his father, brother and sister.”

She knew of Lyanna Stark all too well. _This woman that her brother had started a war over. Why would Rhaegar do such a thing?_ “I still wonder what Rhaegar saw in this woman to risk starting a war over.”

“No one will ever know, My Queen.” Varys admitted. “None the less, I knew Eddard Stark from his time in King's Landing. He was an honourable, just man – dedicated wholly to his family. He was not a monster or a drunken brute like Robert Baratheon.”

“As far as my father once said, he was the only one to protest against what happened to Rhaenys and Aegon.” Tyrion broke in, frowning sadly as he recalled the names of Daenerys's niece and nephew. “He was furious with Robert and my father both.”

Daenerys bit down on her lip, her mind lost in thought. She had never met the Starks or any of their supporters and she knew the tales Viserys told her were likely embellished lies. But how could she trust anyone who helped deprive her of the land she called home? “I will have to make my own judgment of Jon Snow before I condemn or praise him.”

“One last thing, My Queen.” Varys again. She nodded towards him.

“I was there the day that your father executed Rickard and Brandon Stark. All of us – myself, Grand Maester Pycelle, even Prince Lewin of the Kingsguard urged Aerys to keep them as hostages and ransom them back to the North.” The man's face grew melancholy as he seemed to search for words.

“I remember watching as it unfolded. Five hundred nobles and folk of the kings court were gathered in the throne room. A pyre had been built with heavy logs and doused in wildfire. Lord Rickard was suspended from the ceiling in a full suit of plate mail directly over the pyre. Your father ordered pyromancers to light the logs and...he was cooked alive in the suit.”

Exhaling sharply he continued. “Brandon Stark was shackled to a post by a long length of chain. A sword was put just out of arm's reach for him. Your father explained that if he was able to grab the sword, there was a chance to save himself and his father. As Lord Rickard burned, Brandon strangled to death in his feeble efforts to break free.”

A hushed silence filled the room as Daenerys took in Varys's story. _I had no idea that my father was so brutal._ She knew that he loved wildfire – Tyrion had explained about the caches that he'd hidden around King's Landing – but had neglected to tell her the details of the deaths of the Stark men. _No wonder Ned Stark fought against him.._

She realized that she was wrong, however. The stories of her father's cruelty were told far and wide. All lies, she was told as a young girl. But now, seeing the victims and witnesses of the atrocities first hand she knew that Aerys Targaryen was mad, evil and wicked. _Truly mad._

“I..cannot thank you for the story, Lord Varys. It would not be right. I am glad to know the truth behind it, however.”

Daenerys thought back to what she had told Barristan Selmy back in Meereen. The words echoed in her mind as she vowed to keep her promise to her dead friend and adviser.

_I'm not my father._

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon misses Sansa and has a chat with Davos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is some sexual imagery and references to masturbation in this chapter. You've been warned!

Jon sighed audibly to himself as he rummaged through his trunk, digging feverishly through the various changes of clothes he had packed for the voyage. The ship lurched back and forth, the hull groaning with every motion it made but Jon had learned to ignore the noises after the first few days.

His hand found something silk and he grinned. _I knew that's where I put it_ , he mumbled triumphantly. Pulling his hand from the trunk he could not help but chuckle to himself. Thankfully given his status as King he had been granted the largest cabin aboard the ship, and it afforded him a great deal of privacy. While there was a guard posted on his door at all times, it did not account for the...activity that Jon would be up to resulting in any noise.

In his hand he held a pair of fine silken small-clothes, colored red and black. They were a 'parting gift' of sorts from Sansa – who had pulled him aside at the docks where she'd come to see him off and whispered into his ear: “Check your trunk when you get aboard ship. I've left you a little...gift that I think you'll like.”

Just thinking of the sultry way she'd whispered it to him got his blood pumping. He knew at once why she had packed them the moment he'd smelled her upon the silk. Sea travel was harsh and lonely, and men still developed...urges that they had to satisfy even while on the water.

Whenever Jon would find himself hard he would fist his cock whilst holding the garments, the smell of Sansa helping to bring him to climax that much faster. _This is so filthy,_ he chuckled slightly to himself. Yet another debauched act in an already debauched life. He made sure to keep them hidden away deep within his trunk so that no prying eyes would get curious. Yet even as they helped him find release from his hardening cock so too did they help Jon sleep.

Every night he would dream of Sansa. He would see her, smell her and feel her skin against him. Normally, the constant dreams would have been agonizing if he did not have anything to ward off the feelings – but thanks to her 'initiative' he instead was able to embrace the dreams, hotly anticipating his return to Winterfell and to her.

_It makes the time go faster._ Jon was just starting to feel an ache in his loins before a knock at the door roused him from his reverie. Quickly he stuffed the small-clothes back into the trunk. “Who is it?” he shouted.

* * *

The guard at the door answered back almost instantly. “Ser Davos, my lord. He says it is important.”

Jon got to his feet and went to the window. “Let him in!” he shouted.

The door opened and the Onion Knight entered, nodding his head respectfully as he stood by the entrance. “Your Grace, I'm sorry to bother you but -”

“Davos, please.” Jon gently interrupted, inhaling deeply through the open window. “First, I've told you to not call me that. Second, sit down.”

As he settled into a chair by the bed, Davos flexed his hands and wriggled his fingers. “I wanted to talk to you about what our plans are when we arrive at Dragonstone, Your Grace. We're just under a week away and we need to lay out what exactly it is we're going to offer the Dragon Queen.”

Jon nodded, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I've been thinking about that. I can tell you right away what she is going to want – for us to bend the knee and swear fealty. And that's something I won't and can't do. The North will never again bow for a southern leader, and even if I were to agree and bend MY knee, the northern houses would have my head.”

“I don't know the North as well as you but perhaps we could...compromise?” Davos rubbed his fingers idly against his beard. “Agree to recognize and support her claim on the Iron Throne, perhaps send some support and in exchange, she will respect the fact she has no sovereign claim to your lands.”

Jon smiled. “It's not my lands, Davos. It's our lands. You are a part of the North now, like it or not.”

Davos chuckled as he reclined in the chair, his knuckles cracking audibly. “I should have mentioned, as well – you'll get to meet my wife. I slipped a letter in with the ravens you were sending – she's going to meet us in Dragonstone. I haven't seen her since before Matthos died on the Blackwater.”

“I'm sure she is a lovely woman, Davos. I wanted to ask you – now that you're on the way back home...will you stay there? I'm not forcing you to stay in my service. You can return to your castle and your wife.”

Davos shook his head in the negative. “No. I have nothing left in the Stormlands. Stannis is gone, my son is gone – all I have left is Marya. I'll close up Cape Wrath, dismiss the servants and give it to the Dragon Queen as a goodwill gesture.”

Jon rose from his bed and walked over to Davos's side, patting his shoulder gently. “I respect your decision, Davos. You've been a steady and guiding hand for me since...well, since everything began again.”

Jon paused and exhaled sharply. “When we arrive at Dragonstone I will introduce you as my Hand of the King. It's only fitting that you have the title. Sansa and I – we both agree it should be you.”

Davos wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his tunic. “I...I'm not worthy of this, Your Grace.”

Jon shook the man lightly. “Enough of that. You are more then worthy. You've stood with Sansa and I since the start and it was because of your help that I was able to fight for her and my home.”

Davos opened and shut his mouth several times, finding that words would not come.

“Our future is...well, uncertain. And with men like you by our side in the war to come we will be able to fight properly for that future.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa treats with Lord Baelish upon his return and misses Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANOTHER WARNING: Masturbation is detailed in the second half of the story. Read at your own risk!

Sansa folded her hands on the table, keeping her face neutral. A serving man had approached and announced that Lord Baelish had returned from Castle Cerwyn – having been 'unexpectedly' delayed on the road – and was seeking an audience.

“Send him in.” she announced, silently grinding her teeth as she did so. Part of her knew that this was an inevitability, especially now with Jon gone. _I am not a little girl anymore and if he thinks he can use me, he is wrong._

Baelish entered the room in a flourish, his usual black overcloak flowing behind him. He bowed deeply as he approached the table. “Sansa. I am so glad to see you again.” he greeted, a smile plastered upon his face.

“Please sit, Lord Baelish.” she replied plainly, waving him to a seat. She made sure to watch him carefully, studying his every step and word he spoke. “I am sorry to hear of your troubles on the road.”

Without missing a beat he reached a hand out towards her own. Sansa wanted to pull back and slap him but she fought her urge for the moment. Keep playing, she told herself. The stakes for this game were even higher then they had been. She was not just playing for herself, but for Jon and Arya both.

“I am so glad to see you taking command while the King is away. Ruling the North suits you, my dear.” he whispered, gently caressing her hand as he did so.

“It does.” she quipped dryly. His honeyed words were like poison to Sansa's mind. But the truth was a simple one; he had already lost before he began. She knew what his endgame was – to turn her against Jon. But he knew nothing of the bond that the two shared. It goes beyond anything we once had. _I love him in ways you could never imagine._

“I am also told your sister Arya has returned as well. I would very much like to see her again – she was able to evade even my people in King's Landing after your father's death. I am not easily impressed as you well know.”

“I am sure that Arya will make herself known before long.” Sansa smirked, her eyes darting between Baelish's own brown orbs and his hand, still perched on-top of hers. “I am sorry that we did not consult with you prior to the King's departure.”

Baelish shrugged his shoulders. “Ah, the King is a man of action. I cannot hope to compete with that – he is far younger and more virile then I. I am sure that he will be able to bring about a swift alliance with the Targaryen girl and end the supposed threat from beyond the Wall in no time.”

“Supposed threat, eh?” a gruff voice barked from the entrance. _Tormund Giantsbane knew how to make an appearance,_ Sansa noted as he sauntered over to sit beside Baelish, shoving his feet up onto the table and belching loudly. Sansa had to suppress a laugh at Baelish's flash of disgust towards the wildling.

“Trust me, Lord Barlish – there isn't a 'supposed threat'. There's a real, very dangerous fucking threat from beyond the Wall. I know – I've seen it.” Tormund grumbled.

Baelish quickly recovered and smiled towards their guest. “Of course, ser Giantsbane. But for those of us who are not as rugged as you and the King, we still have yet to see any proof of the Others – which will make gathering support that much more difficult.”

Tormund choked back a laugh. “Ser? I'm not a fucking kneeler, twat-bread. All you've gotta do is open your ears and listen. I was THERE. So was Jon Snow. So were half the other Free Folk still standing! We know, d'you hear me?”

“I have no doubt you do know. However, what you and the King have seen cannot simply be believed when the Others have been a thing of myth and legend for eight thousand years.” Baelish noted.

Tormund ignored Baelish's quip, choosing instead to belch loudly at him as he picked his teeth with the knife at his side.

“If I may be excused, Sansa.” She nodded her head and before she could respond Baelish was retreating out of the hall as fast as she'd ever seen him move.

Tormund hopped chairs to sit beside Sansa now, the man reeking of alcohol. “That one,” he pointed towards the exit. “Is a right cunt. I don't like him – he's got the ability to speak so much and yet say nothing.”

Sansa raised a brow, amusement playing on her face. _It's nice to see that the Free Folk un-nerve him so._ She made a mental note to keep them as close as possible during Baelish's 'visit'. “You'll have to explain, Tormund.”

The wildling grinned broadly. “Oh, he's just like those other kneeler cunts you all make nice with. He talks and talks about castles and soldiers and myths and proof but yet he's not really saying anything worth listening to.”

Sansa allowed herself to laugh. _If only the rest of the North had your attitude Tormund._ “I should thank you for...sitting in on this meeting with him, then. I am grateful -”

“Don't thank me, thank Jon Snow.” Tormund interrupted. “He asked me to keep an eye on you before he left since Barlish was on his way back. Said he didn't like the guy, and I can see why he doesn't.”

“Jon did this?” she whispered, somewhat astonished. Her heart skipped a beat as she drew in a deep breath, a sense of relief flowing through her. _I guess I've rubbed off on him somewhat then._

“Aye, he did. Also I should be telling you that he asked me to find the four meanest, ugliest Free Folk left standing to act as your personal guard while he's away. I'll be introducing 'em to you just as soon as your armour-man gives us some good fucking swords.” He shoved a finger into his ear and wriggled it around.

“I have guards already, Tormund.” Sansa replied, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Aye, but it was Jon's idea again. He wanted the Free Folk to watch while Barlish's around. Now our people won't be swayed by honeyed words or kneeler money or women or any of that horse-shit that any other warriors would. They're loyal to Jon Snow, and by extension you.”

Sansa grinned broadly. Jon had made his first moves in the game against Petyr and his influence. Of course Sansa was still the expert in terms of playing politics – both she and Jon agreed wholeheartedly on that – but it warmed her heart to see Jon doing what he could to help even while he was thousands of leagues away.

“Thank you, Tormund. Truly.” she leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

The man patted Sansa's arm roughly, startling her somewhat. “Bah, just doing my part to help the family, I s'pose.” he quipped as he left the room, sauntering away and belching as he went.

* * *

 Her nightly visits were always a risky affair but Sansa knew she had to risk them if she was going to make it through his absence.

Jon's chamber was off-limits for all cleaning until the King's return, she had ordered. If only they knew why she had done such a thing they would have had second thoughts. A wicked grin came over her face as she slipped inside, the halls deserted in the late hour.

Entering the cool and vacant room Sansa inhaled sharply. Jon's scent – rough and earthy – filled her nose as she shivered. Her breath grew ragged as she approached his bed and gently climbed ontop, lowering herself onto her back

Her nose hit the sheets and she sucked in deep, drawing every last bit of Jon from the fabric. The smells brought her memories to the forefront – their lovemaking, their cuddling and the times they had laid, spent and panting atop one another, falling asleep in a tangled mess.

Sansa's hand snaked down to run up her nightdress, finding her already wet womanhood. She began to pant softly as she found the nub above her entrance and began to rub it, the sensation sending waves of pleasure up her spine and arms.

She imagined that it was Jon instead, his cock buried deep inside of her as they kissed. She imagined riding him in the bed, her hair flowing in the cool night breeze as they whispered their moans and cries to one another. These images caused her to rub faster and faster, her free hand shooting up to pinch and tweak a nipple causing her to squirm.

_This was obscene,_ her mind reminded her – though not as an admonishment but as an encouragement. She had finally accepted the forbidden nature of their love, and by the Gods did it feel good.

Sansa moaned quietly as she continued to pleasure herself, her fingers growing sore from tweaking her nipple. She arched her back as she prepared for her orgasm, which hit her like a wave upon the ocean. As before she bit down on her lip as an alternative to screaming, feeling the sheets below her growing damp with her scent.

She allowed herself a giggle as she slipped off of the bed, admiring the next stain that she'd added. There had to be at least a half-dozen others in different areas of the sheets.

“The King will have a wonderful gift upon his return..” she whispered quietly to herself as she exited the room, the castle none the wiser of her activities.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King in the North makes landfall at Dragonstone.

The mid-day sun beat down on the rowboat as it glided towards the shore. From his seat Jon could spy a large gathering of figures coming into view as they grew closer to the beach.

His heart felt as though it would leap out of his chest. _My first real test as King_ , he thought nervously. Rubbing his hands together he sighed audibly – which caused Davos seated beside him to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

The ancient fortress of Dragonstone loomed over the beach, the jagged and rough designs a testament to its Valyrian origins. Banners displaying the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen now flew from it's ramparts.

Jon's gaze was redirected as the boat reached the shore. He, Davos and his honour guard hopped out of the boat and began to push it against the receding tide. They strained with every muscle in their body as they reached the inlet beach, the boat resting easily in the sand.

Jon returned his eyes to the figures just up the beach. Most of them were dressed in rags, armed with curved swords. They glared about lazily – some at him, others towards the sea. _The Dothraki, I presume._

“Shall we?” Jon heard himself speak. Davos nodded and gestured to the four honor guard, who took up positions behind the pair. As one they walked forward, the northmen being enveloped by the gathering of Dothraki warriors, though no one made any sudden moves.

“The King in the North,” a voice quipped. Jon stepped forward several paces to find Tyrion Lannnister, walking ever so gently through the guards. He was garbed in all black with a pin over his left breast. Jon recognized the pin as ones that Hands would wear. “I must say, it certainly is a far cry from a brother of the Night's Watch.”

Jon smiled as the two came face to face. “Aye, it is. And you - the Hand of the Queen. We've both come a long way since the Wall, haven't we?”

The Imp allowed himself a smile. “That we have. A bastard boy and a dwarf now two of the most powerful people in Westeros.” He chuckled at that a moment. “In all honesty it is good to see you again, Jon Snow.”

Jon stepped forward, extending his hand. Tyrion shook it, his grip as strong and confident as ever. “And you, Tyrion Lannister.”

Tyrion waved to his right and a woman stepped forward, lithe and slim, garbed in grey and black colors. “Allow me to present Missandei of Naath, trusted adviser of the Dragon Queen. Missandei of Naath, this is Jon Snow, the King in the North.”

The woman bowed. “I am honored to meet you, my lord. The Hand has told us much about you.”

Jon returned the bow as respectfully as he could. “The honor is mine, Lady Miss-sandy.” He struggled to pronounce the foreign name – so he simply gave it as good a guess as he could.

Tyrion laughed. “Close enough. Now, I can see you've bought a small party with you.”

Jon waved Davos over, the Onion Knight coming to stand at his side. “This is Ser Davos Seaworth – my provisional Hand of the King.”

“I greet you, Ser Davos.” Tyrion nodded respectfully. “This must feel a strange homecoming for you, no? I know that you once served Stannis Baratheon.”

Davos nodded his head, keeping a careful expression on his face. “I did, Lord Tyrion. I was there on the Blackwater the night you sprung your wildfire trap.” he replied, his voice slightly icy.

Jon watched Tyrion's face fall as he sighed. “I am not proud of what I did that night. But we were at war. Anyone would have done the same in my position, Ser. Even you.”

The Onion Knight's teeth ground together as he weighed his reply. “My son Matthos was one of those who burned that night. I should hate you for that, but I can't. You are right, Ser – we were at war.” he sighed sadly.

Tyrion waddled over to him and patted his leg gently. “I am sorry for your son, Ser Davos. Truly, I am.”

Jon allowed himself to exhale as the tension seemed to fade. “Now, I'm most eager to meet the Queen. We do have a lot to discuss as you can imagine.”

“Oh, but of course. She is looking forward to meeting you, Your Grace.” Tyrion smirked slyly his way. “But I must know – my wife, Lady Sansa. Is she well?”

Jon bit his tongue to stop from shouting his outrage. He knew that Tyrion and Sansa had been married both against their will, and he held no grudge towards the Imp for it – but it still made his mind swim with anger at the abuses his beloved suffered at the hands of the Lannisters. “Yes. She...she asked me to give you her regards.”

“I'm glad to hear it. The poor girl's suffered enough tragedies in her lifetime.” Tyrion stated.

“She is a stronger woman now. Much stronger then you knew her as.” Jon nodded, walking through the sand to stand at Tyrion's side. The Dothraki still made no moves, simply keeping their eyes fixed on the gathering.

“I wish her nothing but happiness in her life – especially now that Winterfell is back in Stark hands.” Tyrion patted Jon's leg. “No doubt it makes my dearest sister ever so angry to hear that news.”

Jon laughed. “Cersei Lannister, First of Her Name. I can't get used to that.”

Tyrion looked up to Jon's eyes and smirked. “I can't get used to Jon Snow, King in the North. You'll have to tell me how you went from the Night's Watch and that brooding depressed young man to whoever you are now.”

Jon shrugged as he began to walk up the beach, his men and Davos trailing behind. “It's a long story.”

* * *

Davos strolled along the ramparts, his eyes taking in the sight of the fortress he once called home. A lifetime ago when he was in service to Stannis Baratheon, he would walk these very ramparts with his king and talk. They'd discuss everything from strategy to history to writing. _I have not known a finer man._ But Stannis was dead – his body likely rotting in the snows outside Winterfell – and Davos served a new king now.

A figure waited for him at the far end of the ramparts – a woman with red hair and a kindly smile. Tears flowed from her face as she watched him. Davos felt himself well with emotion as he walked over to his wife, taking her hands in his own.

“Davos?” Marya Seaworth whispered, her voice cracking in disbelief. “Is that...really you?”

He smiled, feeling the tears flow from his own face. “Yes, love. It's me – I'm sorry that I left you.” Davos was wracked with guilt over not having seen Marya sooner – the last time they had seen each other was the day before Davos left with Stannis for Eastwatch.

His wife ran a hand through his hair. “Don't say sorry, Davos. I..I know you were simply serving Stannis as you always did. But when we heard the news that he'd been killed I feared that I'd lost you too in the frozen north.”

“No, I'm...I'm here, sweetheart. Things have changed, though. I serve the Starks now.” Davos smiled softly. “I'm here to bring you North with me when we return. I want us to build a new life there. Cape Wrath, Dragonstone...it just is too painful for me with Matthos gone.”

Marya nodded, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tightly. They stayed like this for a few moments before their lips came together. Davos kissed her with a passion and longing he never knew he had. This was his wife, the mother of his child – and the woman he'd vowed to stay loyal to.

They sobbed together in each others arms for what felt like an eternity, the emotion boiling to the surface in a cascade for both of them.

_I will never leave you again._

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish has a heart to heart with Arya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at writing Littlefinger chapters. He's so crafty and my mind is so not so I feel like he's too basic here. Forgive me if you can. <33

Arya's blow knocked the sword from Teryg's hand with Needle leaving a small slash mark on his palm. The wildling laughed heartily as Arya brought the tip of her sword to his throat, grinning broadly at him.

“Yep, you win again.” he chuckled, bending down to pick up his blade. A small amount of blood trickled from his wound as he did so.

“Sorry about the cut,” Arya said, shoving Needle back into its scabbard. “I did tell you to move your hand faster when I try to disarm, though..”

“Ah, not your fault, little lady – ol' Teryg just isn't as fast as you young ones these days.”

Arya laughed at his retort. She'd found sparring with the Free Folk who still remained at Winterfell was an excellent way to pass the time with Jon gone. Most of the wildlings were fairly decent if wild swordsmen, who tried to overwhelm her with sheer force rather then any kind of tactics. She'd beaten them all at least twice, only being disarmed once by Ulred Fat-Fist, who's sheer size and weight had been enough to knock her to the ground. _Most fighters don't use their stomachs as weapons_ , she mused ruefully.

Every day she would fight a new one; today Teryg, an older greybeard who'd boasted that he'd been the best raider in the ice river had come and gone; she'd beaten him twice before, but he was persistent – and she had to respect that. He was getting a bit better at his technique, too.

As the wildling walked off to wrap his hand Arya walked over to where Ghost sat, staring at her with his red eyes. She reached down and nuzzled him and he responded by licking her affectionately. It was almost bittersweet to see a direwolf again – given that she'd had no sign of Nymeria since they had to chase her off after biting Joffrey.

Though she still had dreams – dreams of a great wolf leading a pack of fierce predators up and down the Riverlands, killing and hunting and eating as they went. Arya didn't know what the dreams meant or if they were somehow connected to Nymeria but she was content in knowing that her wolf had survived and was thriving.

“Nymeria's still out there, Ghost.” she whispered to him. He responded by cocking his head to the right and sniffing at Arya's face, whining slightly. “I know, you miss her and the others.”

Arya did too. But from what she knew there were no other living direwolves save Ghost present in the North. They had buried Shaggydog – or what was left of him with Rickon, Lady was long dead at the hands of her father and Grey Wind had died with Robb back at the Twins.

As for Bran and Summer – no one had seen them since Winterfell was sacked by the Greyjoys.

“You strike fast and true, just as the King does.” a voice interrupted her.

* * *

 

Getting to her feet Arya found herself face to face with Petyr Baelish, who stood off to the side near the kitchens, watching her with a look of amusement on his face. “What do you want?” she snapped.

“I was simply coming to meet you. Sansa has told me much about you, Arya Stark. You are aware of the fact that you are the greatest unsolved mystery that I have ever faced.” Baelish stated, walking a few steps closer to where she stood.

Arya resisted the urge to sneer. She didn't like this one – he sounded as slimy and slippery as Joffrey and the others did. “Because you couldn't find me.”

“Exactly. I have people everywhere in King's Landing. And yet when your father was executed you disappeared without a trace. For years I searched for you at Sansa's behest. She did miss her little sister dearly.” he smiled sadly.

“What do you want? You're talking but not saying anything.” Arya growled, shaking her head towards him. _Cut to the chase, will you?_

Arya had to grin as Baelish's face contorted, clearly taken aback by her comment. “Forgive me, Lady Stark if I have offended. I was just visiting with Sansa and she had mentioned your return. Tell me, what do you think of how far she's come?”

 _We've all changed,_ Arya mused. Jon, Sansa – it didn't matter. Sansa had changed most of all. Arya still remembered the girl obsessed with knights and heroes and tales of love and chivalry. That had all been shattered from her time in King's Landing – and Arya couldn't blame her in the slightest.

Jon's transformation had been the most certain. Arya had seen the Red Priests work their magic – so it hadn't been too much of a shock to find out that he'd been brought back to life after being murdered. _By his own brothers of the Night's Watch, besides_.

But he now sat as King in the North – and people talked about him as though he was Ned Stark reborn. She felt a surge of pride for her half-brother and knew their father would be so proud of how far he had come.

“She's always been smart and knew what to say and how to say it. I'm the one with less tact.” Arya shrugged, throwing her overcoat back on.

Baelish chuckled, taking a seat on one of the stone slabs set aside for construction. “With the King away Sansa is ruling the North now. Isn't it exciting? Queen in the North Sansa Stark. It has a nice ring to it, does it not?”

Arya grimaced at his words, biting down on her lip to keep from scowling. “She's not the queen though. Jon left her in charge while he was away.”

“Very true. But she enjoys being a ruler. I think it suits her, myself.” he idly brushed some dirt from his lap. “She told me that having power and influence over the North – just as the King does, just as your brother Robb and your father did – is something she is happy to have.”

 _I don't like what you're implying._ “Sansa's the Lady of Winterfell. Of course she has power!” Jon had made sure to give Sansa the ruler-ship of their home as one of his first acts as King. Arya had heard it from Jon's own mouth – he never wanted to be king, it had been thrust onto him by the lords of the North.

“Very true, my Lady – but when the King returns, she will go back to being his confidant.” Glancing about the courtyard Baelish lowered his voice to a whisper. “Do you think Sansa will be happy with that arrangement?”

Before Arya could respond Baelish was gone, strolling off towards the main tower.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon treats with the Dragon Queen. Both sides make demands. An old friend shows up.

_My children are growing larger by the day_ , Daenerys observed as she watched them flying over the waters around Dragonstone. Drogon was by far the largest, dwarfing Viserion and Rhaegal several times – but they too were bigger then they had been when she'd left Essos.

Thankfully their behavior had changed somewhat as well. They seemed to listen to her more and more, and were not flying off to terrorize some poor farmer's sheep fields or grain silos as before. None the less she made sure the Unsullied kept a large supply of animals – mostly sheep and oxen – on hand for them at any given time.

The sun loomed overhead as Daenerys studied the horizon, the screeching of her children fading as they flew further out to sea. She became aware of someone behind her thanks to the sudden silence that loomed over the area, allowing the person's footsteps to become audible as they approached where she stood.

Turning her head she studied her mysterious visitor. It was a young man, garbed in heavy furs. His face was locked in a frown, his eyes reflecting a hard and trying life. His black hair was tied back into a bun which sprouted from the back of his head like a sort of mushroom.

_This is the King in the North, then._

“Come, Jon Snow. Stand with me.” she offered, beckoning him to her side. The King nodded and walked up beside her. “I trust your voyage was free of trouble?”

Jon nodded, his face remaining unchanged. “It was, Your Grace.”

“Look out there. Do you see them? My children?” she raised a hand and pointed her finger to the seas where the three flew circles around one another, their screeching now becoming more pronounced as they'd moved further back towards the island in the few moments since their departure.

Out of the corner of her eye Daenerys watched his expression. She saw him inhale and exhale sharply and his breathing grow somewhat rapid. _They make him nervous. As they should._ As she had learned in her formative years, a man who showed no fear was a man not to be trusted. Of course, she had barely met this boy so she had little reason to trust him. But it was a good sign that he was not attempting to be 'fearless'.

“Relax.” she smiled, her hands resting on the brick wall where they stood. “They will not harm you. Not unless I tell them to but I have no plans to do that. Well, unless you have a secret invasion fleet sailing towards Dragonstone that is.”

This made him laugh. It was a short, almost forced sound – but a laugh none the less. “I brought only one ship, Your Grace. The fastest one in White Harbour.” He turned his head, brown eyes now studying her. _It's only fair,_ she reasoned. _I studied him._

Turning from the wall Daenerys waved a hand back towards the path they'd come down, leading towards the Chamber of the Painted Table. “Walk with me, Jon Snow. We've a lot to discuss.”

As they trudged up the walkway Jon looked about the island, his eyes darting this way and that. He's trying to see if there are any spots for an ambush. _He's cautious – perhaps overly so._ The only guards that were near at the time were a couple of Dothraki who stood watch by a brazier overlooking the walkway.

“There will not be any ambushes, King Snow.” Daenerys smirked, patting him on the shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. “I haven't invited you all the way here to kill you.”

Jon nodded – his muscles were fantastically tense – and he sighed. “Forgive me, Your Grace. This is the farthest I've been away from my home...well, ever.”

_I can sympathize with that,_ she mused. “I understand your concern. We've both been away from home – our homes – for far too long.”

* * *

 

As they reached the doors to the Chamber which had been left open for them, Jon inhaled sharply, seemingly attempting to steady himself before her. Daenerys for her part watched with curiosity. _He's no more then a boy, thrust into a role he never wanted._ “I'm ready, Your Grace.” he finally exhaled and walked into the Chamber, the Queen trailing close behind.

The three men inside stood at their chairs, awaiting their approach. Two of the men – Tyrion and Varys- bowed respectfully as they entered. The third, an older bearded man garbed in a rather tatty green tunic simply nodded his head.

Daenerys took her seat at the head of the table and sank into the chair as Jon found a seat next to the bearded man. “Now, before we begin – I do believe we've some introductions to make. King Snow, why don't you start?”

Jon nodded, clearing his throat. “Yes, of course. Queen Daenerys, Lord Tyrion, Lord Varys – this is Ser Davos of House Seaworth, who serves as my Hand of the King.”

The man called Ser Davos once again bowed his head. “My Queen, my Lords. I am honoured to be at the table with such esteemed figures.”

Daenerys inclined her head towards him. “Well met Ser Davos of House Seaworth. You are most welcome here at Dragonstone. Lord Varys, I believe you wanted to speak next?” she waved her hand towards the eunuch.

Varys smiled, laying his hands on the table. “I have heard much about you, Jon Snow. The North says that you are the living embodiment of your late father. I knew Eddard Stark from his time in the capital, and he was truly an honourable man. He would be proud of how far you have come, from a bastard boy with no real prospects but a lonely life at the Wall to here.”

The eunuch turned his head towards Ser Davos. “And do not think I have not heard of you, Onion Knight.” he tittered, turning his head towards Daenerys. “You see, it was this man Davos who saved Stannis Baratheon from certain death during the rebellion. He was able to slip past the Tyrell fleets blockading Storm's End and supply the man with meat and onions, I do believe. Stannis rewarded him with a knighthood for this.”

Daenerys could not help but be impressed by the man's daring. Yes, he had served Stannis Baratheon – one of the Usurper's brothers – but he had been willing to risk his own life against the might of Highgarden. “You are an esteemed figure, Ser Davos. You have every right to be seated with us.”

Both Jon and Davos smiled, inclining their heads in response.

“Now then, I do believe we should get down to business?” quipped Tyrion, turning his head towards the queen.

“I agree. As you both know by now I would hope, I have come home to Westeros to reclaim my family's throne and take my place as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I have several regions already having declared for me – the Iron Islands, Dorne and the Reach, along with three dragons and several hundred thousand Dothraki and Unsullied, not to mention the armies of those three regions I have mentioned.”

She paused a moment and drummed her fingers on the smooth rock of the table. “I do not wish to fight for what is mine, but we both know that the woman who sits the Iron Throne will not yield it peacefully. Cersei Lannister and those who support her are my enemies and I know that they are yours as well. My Hand tells me that it was her son Joffrey's decision to behead Eddard Stark that started Westeros on the path it is on now – endless war.”

She seemed satisfied that both men gazed toward her, their eyes intensely hanging on to every word. “The North has always been a region of...shall we say, stubbornness to my family. My father's actions regarding your grandfather and uncle still cast a shadow over myself and my retainers. Yet I am not my father – nor am I my brother Rhaegar. I am not asking you or your people to love me or admire me. I am merely asking you to make the same choice that your ancestor Torrhen Stark made three hundred years ago when he bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror.”

She inclined her head towards them. “Do this and we can begin rebuilding the relationship between House Stark and House Targaryen. Do this and my armies and dragons will fight alongside you in the wars to come against these Others, as you call them.”

Jon and Davos said nothing as a pregnant pause filled the room. The only sound that could be heard was the faint grinding of teeth coming from the King. Daenerys stared at them, waiting to see what their response would consist of.

“When Torrhen Stark did bend the knee Your Grace, he did so because of the dragons that came at Aegon's back. You have dragons of your own – yes, it is true. I've seen them with my own eyes. And Torrhen Stark was perhaps correct in his decision to bend the knee, and save his people from another war.” Jon began, steeling himself for their reactions.

“But I am not Torrhen Stark.” he returned his gaze to Daenerys. “and I cannot in good faith bend my knee to you. My bannermen – my people – have suffered under the yoke of southern kings for far too long. It is as you said true about Joffrey Baratheon – he took my father's life and held my sister Sansa as his hostage and plaything. My brother Robb fought and died to keep the North free of the Lannisters. And I know that were he here in my place – as he should be – he would fight and die to keep the north free of House Targaryen as well.”

Daenerys showed no emotion as he finished his speech. _I expected this – the Northmen were always stubborn._ “I am not interested in ruling the north, King Snow. Neither have any Targaryen who sat the Iron Throne. Swear fealty to me and you will remain Warden of the North as you family has since Aegon.”

Jon nodded. “You may not want to rule the North, Your Grace. But the North is not like the rest of the Seven Kingdoms – we have always been free. When the Andals came here six thousand years ago the North was the only region that they could not conquer. Every southern attempt at taking the region failed over and over again.”

“My bannermen have a saying.” Jon tapped his fingers on the table. “'we know no king but the King in the North who's name is Stark' We gave up our freedom once to the Targaryens. And I know from each and every single one of my bannermen that they are not willing to do so again.”

Tyrion was first to reply. “Surely you can see the benefits of -”

Daenerys cut him off with a wave of her hand. “You do realize that if I march my army north that your people will die by the thousands, yes? I do not want more blood, King Snow. You have to see that. I am offering you a way to avoid further suffering not just for House Stark, but for the North as a whole.”

Jon sighed, rubbing a hand against his forehead. “I appreciate that Your Grace but my position is clear. Now, if you were open to discussing other forms of truces – perhaps a treaty of friendship between the North and the Iron Throne, we could arrange something in such a way to give us all what we want.”

Before Daenerys could reply the doors to the Chamber burst open. A serving man rushed in, panting tiredly. “Your Grace!” he shouted, breathing hard.

“What is it?” Daenerys queried, rising to her feet.

“The fleet that you sent to Dorne was attacked just off the coast. What's left of it is coming back into the harbour now. Lord Greyjoy says he needs to speak with you at once.” the man gasped out, slouching against the brick as he did so.

The assembled exchanged puzzled looks. “What does Yara need to say?” Daenerys replied.

“Not Lady Yara. Lord Theon. He says that -” the serving man began but was cut off as Jon leaped out of his chair and flew out of the room, running for the beach.

* * *

Jon heard nothing save for the word 'Theon' before he took off running. His cloak fell from his shoulders but he ignored it and the shouts of confused and passing guards and servants as he dashed down the outdoor path and back towards the shore. He thought he faintly heard Davos chasing after him as he ran but he wasn't sure.

He reached the beach in moments, panting hard as he watched a rowboat with the Greyjoy kraken drift ashore. His blood ran hot as he watched Theon Greyjoy disembark, pushing the boat onto the sandbar. His eyes fixated on the sinewy figure before him as Theon locked eyes with him, his own eyes growing wide with terror.

A pregnant pause filled the air as Theon started towards him only to try and walk to the side of him. Jon saw this coming and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him back to face him.

“Going somewhere, Theon?!” he roared, his breath hot against the trembling ironborn's face. “You and I have a lot to talk about, don't you think?!” he squeezed his collar tighter as Theon trembled in his grasp.

“P..please, Jon. Let me g-go, I have to talk to the Queen..” he whispered, his voice cracking with fear.

Jon shook him roughly, his breathing growing faster as he did so. “Let you go?! Like you let Bran and Rickon go?! Like you let Winterfell go, you bastard? Father trusted you, raised you like one of us...Robb trusted you, Theon – and you betrayed them all!” Jon howled, the emotions boiling over into his voice as his iron grip remained locked around his collar.

“I didn't kill Bran and Rickon! You know that!” Theon pleaded. “I'm sorry, please! I n-never was a Stark! I'm sorry!”

“Rickon is dead anyway!” Jon retorted. Theon's eyes widened. “Aye, because of you burning Winterfell he fled to the Umbers who turned him over to Ramsay after you left with Sansa! I watched him DIE just steps away from me, shot through the heart by the bastard.”

Theon began to tremble even more violently in Jon's grasp. “...sorry, I'm sorry..” he repeated to himself, tears and snot flying down his face.

“Your Grace!” Davos shouted as he ran up beside him, a trail of Dothraki and the Missandei woman trailing behind. “Please, let him go!” he patted Jon's shoulder gently. “We can't afford an incident with the Queen. You know that.”

Jon's body shook in fury. Why should he let this traitor live? Why should he live while his father, Robb and Rickon lie dead? His mind raced as he thought of his dead family. _They deserved so much more then this..._

His mind then filled with thoughts of Sansa. Sansa, who had only been able to escape Winterfell thanks to Theon. Sansa who had pleaded with Jon to show him mercy. _For you, my love – I would do anything._

Jon released his grip on Theon's collar. “You live only because you helped Sansa. But I promise you this, Theon. If you ever, and I mean EVER set foot in the North again I will have you hanged as a murderer. Is that clear?”

Theon trembled and wiped the tears and snot from his face. “...yes..” he mumbled, shaking where he stood.

Jon angrily stormed back towards Dragonstone and the Queen.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya confronts Sansa regarding some well placed gossip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry everyone, Sansa and Arya will be fine! Just a bit of conflict thanks to our favorite whoremonger(as Renly put it in season 2) <3

Even with her nightly visits to Jon's chambers Sansa missed him deeply. Her mind constantly thought of him and no matter where she went or how hard she tried to keep busy, she could not release the thoughts of him from her mind.

Ruling the North was a difficult and daunting task, Sansa had found out quickly. She'd entertained lords, heard petitions from everyone from common farmer to knights and traders alike and was responsible for ensuring that the roads and towns of their kingdom were protected.

Yet it felt good, Sansa had to admit. The fact she – a girl who was once considered nothing more then a naive 'little dove' – was a significant player in a power structure of Westerosi life was a satisfying feeling for her. She had the control for once in her life and did not have to fear others trying to choose for her – be it where to live, who to marry or even who to speak to.

Even so Sansa was not about to allow the pleasurable feeling pull her towards becoming someone like Baelish. She had something far more important to her then power to think about in her life, and that was Jon. No matter how much Baelish tried to propel her to his side, to plot and scheme against him for control of the North, she would not break.

_Family means everything to me._

A knock at the door interrupted Sansa's reflections. “Pardon, Sansa.” came the gruff voice of Berhart, one of her Free Folk guards. “Your sister's here to see you. Says it's urgent.”

* * *

 Sansa smiled. “Let her in.” she commanded and the door flung open. Arya sauntered in, pulling up a chair from the end table near the window.

“Sans, we need to talk.” she began, sitting down next to her. Sansa studied Arya's face as she spoke and soon realized that she appeared agitated. _Something's troubling her._

“Arya, what is it? You look upset.” Sansa replied, her eyebrows narrowing in confusion.

The girl sighed and ran a hand through her hair, shaking her head. “Look. I've just been hearing...things. Around the castle. Some of those Vale men – they were telling one another about something you did and I happened to overhear.”

Sansa showed no outward reaction to her statement but inside her mind raced with fear. “What I did..? Arya, I have no idea what you're talking a bout.” she expressed, face still furrowed in confusion. _By the Gods, what lies is he spreading about me now?_ Her thoughts turned to Baelish almost immediately.

Arya frowned at her, narrowing her eyes sharply. “They were saying how good it was that you'd sent a raven to Littlefinger, updating him on your movements before the battle and how..how good you were at getting Jon set up as you did.”

Sansa's eyes widened. “What..? Setting Jon up for what, Arya? This doesn't make any sense.” She was genuinely confused at Arya's accusation and could not hold her composure any longer.

Arya pounded her fist on the table in front of her. “You used him as bait for Ramsay Bolton! They said you and Littlefinger met after you got to Castle Black and that's when he told you about the army. Even the wildlings were telling me how the battle was almost lost until you and the Vale knights showed up.”

 _How dare Baelish try something like this!_ Sansa rose to her feet and pounded her fist into the wall, the wood thudding on impact. “How could you think I would use Jon as bait?! Arya, these men are lying – I would never do anything like that.”

“Are the wildlings lying too Sansa? They said you didn't come until Jon's army was almost wiped out.”

Sansa paused, bringing her hand back down to her side, ignoring the sharp pain in her knuckles. “That wasn't what you think, Arya. I didn't even KNOW the Vale armies were coming until I found Baelish after the battle had started!”

This only caused her sister to snort in disgust. “So it is true. At least about the Vale and the army it has.”

“Arya, no! Yes, Littlefinger told me about the army at Mole's Town when I escaped from Winterfell, but I refused him. I told him that Jon and I would take the North back without him – because you know a man like Baelish can't be trusted.” Sansa sighed, her face flush with anger. “But when Jon and I went all over the North the great houses refused us or never replied to our ravens. I..I had no choice.”

Arya's eyes softened slightly at Sansa's words, but she still wore an angry frown. “And you didn't tell Jon about this...why? If you'd take the North back together why wouldn't you at least SAY you could write to Baelish and get an army from him?”

Sansa found herself at a loss for words. Her eyes filled with tears as she stammered slightly, trying to find an appropriate answer. “I...knew Jon would refuse the help.”

“You don't honestly think Jon would say no to an army, do you? C'mon Sans, you can lie better then that.” Arya retorted.

“What do you want from me Arya? I had a choice to make and so -”

“And so you made a choice. A choice that benefited YOU and YOU alone. Jon attacks Ramsay anyway because he knew that Rickon was his prisoner despite being outnumbered. You let Ramsay get the upper hand and kill Jon, Sansa saves the day.” Arya shook her head, her eyes unable to meet Sansa's.

“I'll say this Sansa. When Jon comes back – and he will come back – there better be no problems with you giving up control back to him. He's the King, not you. If you or your little friend Petyr try anything, and I mean ANYTHING to hurt Jon..”

Sansa choked out a sob. She couldn't believe any of this but worst of all, her own little sister thought she was some kind of power-hungry monster. “Arya, please...listen to me..” she cried, falling back into her chair.

“Why should I? You never loved me or Jon. He was always the bastard and I was always the horse-face.” she snapped as she exited the room.

Sansa sobbed loudly, her cries echoing in the walls around her. She wasn't angry at Arya – in fact she understood why she'd be so angry – but she did know who to blame for all of this. She knew clearly what he was doing – trying to turn sister against sister.

_I promise that before Jon comes home, dear Petyr will die for this..._

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellaria Sand is captured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I made Euron sufficiently scary in this chapter. I try to combine the best of the show and the books for these characters. <3

The last thing Ellaria Sand remembered were the screams of her crew as flames crackled around her. Her vision was still blurry and unfocused as she came to, blinking her eyes rapidly while struggling to get her bearings. From the feel of the wood floor and the sounds of the sea rocking around her, she gathered she was aboard a ship of some kind.

Rising slowly to her feet she found a set of iron bars blocking her into the room she was in. _A prisoner, then._ She cursed herself for being stupid and falling into an obvious trap. The Martell fleet – though it was not truly fair to call it that anymore, being that House Martell was dead – had met with the Queen's Greyjoy allies to begin ferrying their newest levies back to Dragonstone when they were ambushed.

 _By other ironborn_ , Ellaria reflected bitterly as the memories came back into focus. A scowl overtook her as she peered out of the iron bars. Around her came and went several men, all garbed in various sailor rags – yet with none of them making any noise. “Where am I? To who do you owe allegiance?” she demanded, wrapping her fingers around the metal.

“They won't answer you.” came a man's voice from the far side of the room. “They can't.”

Ellaria narrowed her eyes as she tried to put a face to the figure. He was garbed in the usual ironborn regalia sporting the kraken of House Greyjoy on his chest. A circlet made of wood wrapped around his head and a great black cape flowed behind him. “Are you the captain of this ship, then?”

The man sauntered closer to the bars, shrugging idly. “In a manner of speaking, yes.” he smiled and Ellaria saw nothing but pure malevolence in his expression, his eyes wide with a feral sort of glee.

“What do you want? I am Princess of Dorne – we can negotiate for my release. I can make you a rich man, priate.” she offered, smiling sweetly towards him. These brigands were all the same – the scent of money would make them offer their services up to whoever brought up the most of it. And with the might of Dorne backing her Ellaria knew she could offer the most.

“A fine offer, but alas one that I must refuse.” the man replied, pulling a chair from the side of the room and placing it just in front of the cell as he sat, watching her with his evil eyes. “You see, I've already been assured of a far greater offer. Queen Cersei has offered fifty thousand gold dragons for Ellaria Sand – dead or alive. Apparently you murdered her daughter – naughty girl.” the man mockingly scolded.

Ellaria's face contorted into a scowl. _So, you want to play this game then._ “If you honestly believe that Cersei Lannister will pay you anything then you are truly deluded. She lies as easily as she breathes!” Her body grew hot with rage as she imagined the bitch's smirking face once more.

“Oh, I don't honestly believe anything.” the man grinned, his tongue idly licking at his lips. “And the truth is, I am not after her gold – I doubt she has the means to pay for a loaf of bread let alone a reward as substantial as that. What I see is far more...endearing.”

“Do you honestly think that she of all people would consort with a pirate?” Ellaria sneered.

The man laughed – a dark, malevolent chuckle. “You aren't aware of me. Oh, how pleasant this is.” he clapped his hands together excitedly. “Perhaps you've heard the name Euron Greyjoy then?”

Ellaria shrugged her shoulders. She barely knew of the Queen's own ironborn allies, let alone her enemies. “Never heard of you.”

Before she could react further a hand was at her throat, pulling her against the iron bars. Euron's face was contorted in fury as he seethed at her. “From Quarth to Ib and Asshai, men see my sails and pray. What do you think women do?!” he bellowed.

Ellaria showed no reaction as she pulled against his grasp, her face remaining stoic. _Just kill me and be done with it_ , she thought as her breathing grew shallow. But before the blackness of death overtook her vision she found the hand released from her neck.

“Forgive me, that was unworthy.” Euron whispered as he returned to his seat. “But you must understand the gravity of who you deal with, my dear lady Sand. I am not some mere pirate lord, raping and pillaging as I see fit. Oh, no no no – my plans are far more then simple plunder.”

“I could care less what your plans are.” she spat, staggering back from the iron bars.

“Oh, but you will come to care, my dear.” Euron snapped his fingers and two of his crew appeared. “Bring her in.” he commanded as they disappeared into a side room. Within moments they re-emerged, dragging a prone and moaning figure. Ellaria's eyes went wide with horror as she watched her daughter Tyene was dropped onto the ground as though she were nothing more then a sack of flour.

* * *

“Your lovely daughter Tyene Sand. Oh, is she a pretty one!” Euron exclaimed gleefuly as he rose, walking over to the girl as she sat up. Her face sported a large bruise over her right eye but otherwise she was unharmed. Ellaria's heart continued to race as she returned to the bars, gripping them in a frantic and vice-like hold as she watched the pair.

“Let her g-go..” Ellaria whispered, her voice failing her. “I will..I will give you what you want. I will go with you to King's Landing alive. Just, please – let my daughter live.”

Euron turned his head towards her and nodded. “Ah, the ever protective mother. It seems you women value your children more then your lives. I can respect that in my own way – I myself have children all over the world. I don't care about them, mind you – but they are there.” he shrugged, laughing.

Tyene shook her head, trying to clear the fog from her brain. “Mother..?” she called, eyes widening as she stared towards Ellaria's prison.

“Yes, Tyene – I'm here.” Ellaria replied, eyes running with tears. “You're alright. I promise...no one will hurt you.”

“Hurt her? My dear Princess, what kind of man do you think I am?” Euron mockingly gasped and placed a hand over his chest. “I'm not like you in that I don't kill little girls. At least, not with poison.”

Ellaria ground her teeth together. “Do you want a confession?!” she yelled, flailing against the bars of her cell. “Yes, I killed the whore Lannister girl! She deserved to die so her bitch of a mother would suffer. All of them should burn! Cersei, the Kingslayer, Casterly Rock, everything!”

Euron clapped. “Oho, very good. You know my dear it truly is a shame we have to face each other as enemies. Your desire for revenge and blood would make you a very valuable asset to me. I might have even made you one of my wives.”

“What do you mean to do with us?” Tyene snapped, rising weakly to her feet.

Euron shrugged. “Your mother tells me to let you go. Cersei tells anyone – not just me – to bring you to her. Decisions, decision.” he pursed his lips together as he returned to his seat.

With a snap of his fingers one of the sailors came up behind Tyene, placing a dagger to her throat. Ellaria screamed and threw herself against the cell thrashing wildly. “Let her go! Take my life instead! Tyene is just a girl!” she pleaded, her voice a mixture of sorrow and anger.

Tyene for her part remained stoic as she was forced onto her knees, her eyes welling up with emotion but no tears flowing. The only thing that flowed was a small bit of blood from her nose.

The crewman placed the dagger closer to her throat as Tyene felt her heart beat faster and faster. It was then – and only then – that she realized what Euron was doing. “A wonderful poison, the Long Farewell.” he quipped, drumming his fingers on his legs. “Asshai made and very expensive. But worth the cost.”

Ellaria felt herself grow even more crazed as she continued launching herself at the iron, uncaring about the pain in her body from the impacts. “No! Take me instead! Give her the antidote! I poisoned the Lannister girl! Me alone!” she cried, desperately reaching for her daughter.

Tyene's breath grew ragged and shallow as she began to tremble, the blood flowing from both nostrils now. “Mother...” she gasped weakly, her eyes fluttering wildly.

“NO! TYENE!” Ellaria shrieked in despair.

Euron chuckled grimly. “It's a bit strange, being the poisoner – having control of a person's life and death. But it's even more strange to be the poisoned – having no control of your own life and death.”

He rose again from his seat. “You mentioned an antidote?” he asked, idly taking a vial from his belt.

“YES!” Ellaria yelled, her voice growing hoarse. Her face ran with tears and sweat as she flailed wildly towards her daughter, now retching onto the deck. “Give to her! I will tell you everything. You will have the riches of Dorne, the women of Dorne, me – whatever you want! Just spare my girl's life!”

The King walked over to Tyene and held out the vial. As she reached up to take it he threw it over his shoulder, the glass shattering somewhere near Ellaria's cell. “I don't want Dorne. I want the Seven Kingdoms. So, your offer is meaningless to me.”

Tyene collapsed onto all fours, convulsing violently as she gasped out her last breaths.

Ellaria was so focused on trying to free herself from the cage that she failed to notice her own nose now bleeding profusely, the red staining the front of her dress. She howled and screamed with rage and grief as she began to retch herself, still launching feebly towards the bars. Her only thoughts were of her daughter. _Must reach her, I can still save her..._

As she fell to the floor and her vision grew dark Ellaria's last thoughts were of Oberyn and his smile.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Daenerys resume discussions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think I am gonna take a day's rest after writing so much in the last 2 days. Need to recharge my creative juices. :) lol

Jon's face twitched as he clenched his fists atop the Painted Table, sneering with anger. The rest of the assembled were busy listening to Theon – who told the tale of an ambush on the Martell-Greyjoy fleets off the coast of Dorne by his uncle Euron, now King of the Iron Islands. Jon could not bear to even look at the man he once considered family. He had agreed to spare his life so long as the man remained outside of the North – but now having to suffer his presence made him all the more furious.

Theon for his part stared towards Daenerys and Tyrion, keeping his eyes firmly away from Jon and Davos. He twitched nervously as he spoke of the attack, of how Euron's fleet was able to destroy the vast majority of the Martell fleet and a good portion of Yara's before slinking away. But worst of all for House Targaryen was the news that both Ellaria Sand and Yara had been captured.

“We t...tried to fight them.” Theon stammered, his hands shaking atop the Painted Table. “Tried to m-mount a counter after Yara was taken but we...we couldn't. Ordered the retreat back to Dragonstone. Had no-no choice. But they didn't follow.”

Daenerys absorbed the news with all the grace of a ruler, Jon noted. Though he could see her face flush with anger as she bit down on her lower lip. Tyrion looked grim as ever, his hands fidgeting uncomfortably as Theon spoke.

“If Euron Greyjoy wanted to make an impact he certainly has succeeded.” quipped Varys – but Jon noted that even he appeared unnerved by the news.

“Of that we agree.” Daenerys replied icily. “How many ships were able to escape his attack?”

Theon's twitching only got worse as he seemed to struggle for an answer. “Forty. If that.”

“Forty ships, out of nearly two hundred.” Tyrion replied, sighing audibly. “This puts us at a significant disadvantage, Your Grace. We needed all of those ships for both defending Dragonstone and going on the offensive to King's Landing.”

“At the very least Lord Theon was able to get some of our ships out of there.” Daenerys smiled towards the trembling ironborn. “And, as of right now you are the acting commander of the Greyjoy fleets until we are able to rescue Yara.”

Jon slammed his fist down on the table, frustration taking hold. “Do I have to sit here and listen to you praise this man, Your Grace? He's a monster as far as I know.” he snarled.

Daenerys turned her gaze to Jon. “I understand the history you have with him and I am certainly not condoning his actions towards Winterfell or your family. But Theon Greyjoy has sworn himself to my service – and due to that I have a responsibility to protect him from harm.”

“I believe His Grace simply wants to be excused while Lord Theon briefs you.” Davos answered, nodding towards Jon – who inclined his head stiffly. “Once he is done we can resume discussion.”

Daenerys turned her head to Tyrion and Varys, who both nodded their ascent. “Very well, gentlemen. I will send a servant to find you when we're finished. Don't go too far, though.” she smiled.

* * *

Jon and Davos rose from their seats and walked out of the Chamber, heading outside towards the brick paths overlooking the beach. A pregnant silence filled the air as they walked before Davos grasped Jon's shoulder gently. “You handled yourself well, Your Grace.”

Jon shook his head angrily. “How can I be happy to see Theon, Davos? I had to respond. The last time I heard anything of him was when he was burning Winterfell and killing my brothers.” Jon's hands trembled with a silent fury.

Davos smiled sympathetically towards him. “I know that. But we cannot afford another incident with the Queen, as I told you on the beach. Killing Theon will only cause things here to become very nasty and complicated .Not to mention...” he turned his head away from Jon's face, clearly reluctant to continue.

“Davos, just say it. You're the Hand of the King – I want to know your thoughts, no matter how much I disagree.”

“Not to mention that killing him won't bring Rickon back. Not truly.” Davos replied, frowning sadly.

Jon wiped his eyes at the mention of his littlest brother. _He was taken before his time – far before his time. He deserved to grow up and live and laugh and have a family of his own. Not spend his final days in a dungeon tormented by that monster. I'm still so sorry I couldn't save you Rickon._

“I...I know.” Jon answered after a moment's pause. “Theon was...well, Father always tried to make him feel as much a part of our family as he could. Lady Stark treated him with more kindness then she ever did me – he was almost like another sibling. I can't understand why he would betray us like he did.”

Davos shrugged his shoulders in reply. “Perhaps he resented the fact he was taken from his home at such a young age and essentially was forced to become a hostage for House Greyjoy's good behaviour. No matter how kindly your father treated him, the stigma of his presence was still there.”

Jon nodded. He'd never considered it from that point of view before – _perhaps the more Father tried to help him fit in the more isolated and out of place he felt._ “That still doesn't give him the right to do what he did.”

“Of course not, Your Grace – and I am not defending him.” Davos patted Jon's shoulder in a sympathetic manner. “You have every right to be angry at him – he is a murderer of innocents even if not your brothers. You were right in banishing him from the North, and if he ever does set foot in our lands again you can get justice for the fallen.”

Huffing loudly Jon placed his hands on the brick wall and leaned out to watch the sea. He could make out dozens of ships milling about, all of them flying the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen in their sails. “We need her dragons if we're to have any chance of defeating the Night King. But the woman's damned determined to have my allegiance – and that's something I won't and can't give.”

Davos seemed pleased to change the topic away from Theon. “Agreed. Which is why we need to explain to her the true threat of the Others and what they can do.”

“What if she wants proof that we're not making this up?” Jon asked, shoulders slumping. He was so tired and they'd only just arrived. His body craved sleep, perhaps because of the southern air. But most of all he missed Sansa - her smile, her smells, the feel of her body on his.

“Then we offer to bring her back North with us. Take her beyond the Wall and find us some of his army.” Davos reasoned. “If she wants to fancy herself as a ruler she'll need to see things first hand.”

“You really think they'd let her go north? With us?” Jon laughed, his voice hoarse and tired. “And if we go back North with a fleet of Targaryen ships at our back, there's no guarantee that they'll leave when told to.”

Davos nodded. “We'll have to do something, Your Grace. It was like you have said all along...the dead are coming. And we'll need every trick up our sleeve if we're to have any hope of defeating them for good.”

A serving girl walked up to the two and bowed her head. “Pardon, m'lords. But the Queen is ready for you to return now.” the girl ran off as quickly as she arrived.

“Well Davos, let's get to it.” Jon smirked as they began walking back up towards the Chamber.

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa deals with the stresses of Baelish's lies. Winterfell gets another new visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW as there is some slight sexual language in this one. Nothing too bad, no smut sadly. :P

Sansa slumped into the Lord's Chair, having dismissed the bannermen who had been conferencing with her. She tapped her fingers onto the table, twirled them in her hair – anything to try and fend off the feelings of sorrow and dread she'd been experiencing since that night with Arya.

Her eyes were sunken from the lack of sleep and the hours she'd spent weeping. All of her attempts over the past few days to speak to her little sister had been rebuffed, with Arya either ignoring her or hiding so well that even her Free Folk guards couldn't get a hold of her.

Sansa knew that she couldn't keep this up. The stress was becoming overwhelming – and not just from Arya and her mistaken beliefs about her. Now her bannermen were beginning to openly discuss these 'rumors' they'd been exposed to with her during meetings. The young Lord Mazin, who's father and brothers had fought and died for Robb had been the most vocal about his displeasure with her.

“I gave you every single man I could spare for the Stark cause, because House Mazin has always stood with the Starks – and we don't run just because things look bleak.” he'd told her, his face hard with anger. “Every single one of my men were willing to fight – and die if need be – against the Boltons because we never wanted to be ruled by them. We were outnumbered, fine. But we kept faith.”

Before Sansa had been able to assuage the man he'd launched into a tirade. “Yet you had a secret army of twenty thousand ready to ride in at your command and you said nothing? You let my men, the Mormont men, the Hornwood men and even those Free Folk fight – and die – against impossible to win odds only to swoop down at the last minute with an army you'd hidden away?!”

“My lord, let me explain -” she'd tried saying, but he cut her off with an angry wave of his hand.

“Explain what? What's there to say, my lady? That you used us as bait so you could destroy the Boltons yourself and save the North? Allow me to say this, Lady Sansa – my father and my brothers marched south with King Robb and most of our forces and never came home. Because we follow the Starks of Winterfell. What would Lord Eddard, gods rest his soul, say about his daughter now?”

Sansa felt her eyes moisten with fresh tears – his words stung her to the very core of her being. Yet he was right; the man had every right to be angry with her if only because of the lies that Baelish had been feeding them.

_I know you're behind this Petyr,_ she raged. Even with all of her mastery of the political arts she still could not quite narrow down his motivations, however. _What would he gain from causing turmoil in the North?_ She knew his ultimate goal was to have Sansa sit as Queen so he could rule from the shadows, but why turn the lords of the north against her?

Even the Free Folk were beginning to grumble about her. Tormund assured her that he didn't believe a word of Baelish's lies – neither did the men he'd picked to guard her. But she had to do something lest there be a full blown revolt before Jon's return.

Her heart ached for Jon – on the other side of Westeros, away from home for the first time. Away from her. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dress as she pictured his strong, perfect form – tracing her way down from his head to his chest and stomach. She shivered as she went lower and she felt herself growing wet as she imagined his perfect, hardening cock in her hands. Biting down on her lip she let herself emit a low moan as she desperately wanted to reach under her skirt and bring herself to peak. Her mind began to imagine Jon inside of her, his cock thrusting in and out of her slick folds...

“Sansa?” A voice thankfully tore her away from her increasingly naughty thoughts. Tormund was at the threshold, eating what appeared to be half a ham. “You alright?” he queried, turning his head sideways.

* * *

“Y-yes, Tormund. What can I do for you?”

The wildling casually strolled in, pulling up a chair and patting her on the shoulder. “You seem more upset then usual these days. Is it those kneelers and their fucking rumors?”

She nodded, sighing audibly. “The lords are starting to come to me angry about what they've heard. Between them and Arya...”

Tormund nodded, his face gruff as he shoved his lunch onto the table. “This Barlish is a fucking slippery asshole, like I told you already. I dunno shit about kneelers and your poly-tics but I know that spreading lies about someone is never a good thing.”

“I've tried telling them!” she slammed a hand onto the table sharply. “Tried telling them that it's not true. But no one wants to believe me – even your people are starting to talk, and you said so yourself.”

“Listen, lass. I'll be clear – I do wish youda told us about the army that Barlish had. But I can see why you didn't. What if he didn't show up and we all got hoped up for nothing? What if he'd ignored your little bird and stayed put in Twat-town or wherever he was? What I'm trying to say is that while it looks bad – I know why you did it.” he smiled softly, patting her shoulder once again.

She was grateful for Tormund having at least some faith in her. “Thank you, Tormund. But this doesn't stop the lies that he is spreading about me.”

“Aye, that's true. But you know that Jon doesn't buy into any of that shit. If he were here he'd shut Barlish right the hell up, and you know he would.” the man snickered and even Sansa laughed despite herself.

“We need the Vale army, though. Otherwise when the Others come we won't be able to -” Sansa was interrupted from her discussion by a serving man entering the hall.

“Apologies, m'lady. But there's a rider at the gate. Says she needs t'see you at once.”

Sansa nodded. “Send her in then. I'll receive her in here.”

“Want me to go?” Tormund asked, grasping his ham and preparing to get up. Sansa shook her head in the negative.

The woman who came into the hall was garbed all in furs as a wildling would be. She carried a long sharpened stick as a spear, her black hair matted with sweat and snow. “Lady Sansa Stark?” she asked, her voice loud and carrying.

“Yes. To whom am I speaking with?”

The woman stepped closer to her, eyes studying Tormund carefully. “I am Meera Reed of Greywater Watch. I've been keeping something safe that needs to be delivered to Winterfell. We figured it was time for that delivery to be made.”

Sansa raised a brow in confusion. She wasn't expecting any deliveries. Keeping her face neutral she nodded. “Very well, Lady Reed. What have you to deliver?”

Meera turned about and left the hall in a half-jog. A moment later she returned, roughly pushing a sled. Atop the sled appeared to be a bundle of furs – but as Sansa looked closer at it she saw it was a person. The girl pulled down the furs and the person's face was revealed.

“Hello Sansa. It's been a long time.” Bran smiled towards her. He was older – his hair was unkempt and his clothing ripped and covered in tears, but Sansa recognized the little boy who loved to climb almost at once.

She vaulted out of the chair and leaped onto the sled, hugging him tightly as she could. “Bran!” she shouted, sobbing into his shoulder. He returned the hug, his own tears falling onto her dress. “You're alive! Bran!” she kept repeating, her sobs growing louder.

She didn't notice Arya coming into the hall or her screams of “BRAN!” but she did feel the impact of her nearly tackling the pair off the sled as she hugged him tightly.

The three siblings stayed like this for some time, sobbing into each others arms, overjoyed that the wolves were finally coming home.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Euron arrives in King's Landing with an offer for Cersei.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my story is going to diverge somewhat from the season 7 leaks just because some of them(like Euron fleeing back to the Iron Islands) make little sense to the story. So be warned! ;p

Euron Greyjoy sauntered into the throne room, eyes flitting this way and that as he strolled past the various nobles, who whispered about him in hushed voices. _Let them talk,_ he reflected, _talk cannot hurt a man like me._ Accompanied by a handful of his sailors from the _Silence_ who hauled a cart containing the dead bodies of Ellaria and Tyene Sand he stopped before the Iron Throne.

The banners flanking the chair of blades were the red lion of House Lannister. The woman seated on the Throne was announced as Cersei Lannister, First of her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men. Euron resisted the urge to roll his eyes in boredom – announcing titles was always a time consuming process.

“May I introduce Euron Greyjoy, self-proclaimed King of the Iron Islands and Lord Reaper of Pyke.” the steward gestured to him. Euron sighed loudly as he shoved his way past the steward.

“First of all, it's not 'self-proclaimed'. Just King will do fine.” he smirked.

Cersei Lannister studied him carefully, her eyes devoid of any expression as she perched herself on the iron chair. Beside her stood Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer himself – Euron knew him by sight as well as reputation. “What do you want, Lord Euron?” Cersei asked him, her voice sounding almost bored by his presence.

“I've come with a rather tantalizing offer for the Queen of Westeros.” he beamed, laughing ever so slightly. “One that will result in the destruction of her enemies and the preservation of the Iron Throne.”

The siblings exchanged looks of skepticism at his words with Cersei openly rolling her eyes. “Talk is cheap, Lord Greyjoy. Get to the point.” Cersei snapped.

_Bold,_ Euron mused. _I like that._ “I saw your little fleet when I was sailing in here. Impressive, but no doubt those ships had to come from somewhere. And I'm going to guess by the looks of things they came from the Westerlands.”

“Where my ships come from is of no concern of yours, ironborn.” Cersei sighed, gesturing for him to continue.

“But of course, Your Grace.” Euron had kept his own fleet far enough back from King's Landing that the queen would have no idea of it's existence. He'd only sailed into the Blackwater with the _Silence_ and nothing more. “My point is this. You've managed to piss off pretty much everyone in the Seven Kingdoms. The Reach, Dorne and the Stormlands are all backing the Dragon Queen. The Vale and the North are backing the King in the North – whoever the fuck he is.”

Pausing a moment Euron shrugged. “Where does that leave you? You've got King's Landing and the Westerlands. Not much territory for a queen of your stature, is it? Oh, and I suppose you have the Riverlands too – but I hear old Lord Frey kicked the bucket as of late and so, there's no real leadership there.”

“All of that will be dealt with as needed, Lord Greyojy.” Jaime was the one to respond this time, eyeing the King with a look of contempt. “The Queen is very busy. What do you want?”

“All business then, hey? Fine, fine. First, a gift for you.” Euron gestured to his sailors who upended the cart, spilling Ellaria and Tyene's dead bodies onto the floor.

Cersei raised a brow, craning her head to study the corpses while beside her Jaime appeared too stunned to speak.

“Two dead Dornish women, just as the Queen commanded.” Euron pointed to the corpses. “I hear you were in Dorne, Kingslayer. Why not see if they're the ones you wanted?”

Cersei nodded at her brother and he stepped down from the dais, kicking the corpses over to reveal their faces. As Euron watched the Kingslayer studied them long and hard, his face twisting slightly into a frown. “Aye, it's them.”

The Queen flashed a smile at his words, seeming genuinely pleased. “Finally, Myrcella's killers have met their end. Tell me, Lord Greyjoy – did they suffer?”

“I'm told the poison I used on them causes great agony before they die, so I have to say yes.” he snickered.

Jaime cast another contemptible look towards Euron as he returned to the dais.

“You have done me a great service, Euron Greyjoy.” Cersei nodded her approval. “Though I am sure that you did not do this out of the goodness of your heart.”

Euron laughed heartily at her reply. “Please, my Queen – you and I are cut from the same cloth. Kindred spirits as it were. You know that I haven't come here just to kiss your ass and pay you lip service.”

The Kingslayer drew his sword at Euron's words. “Mind your tongue, Greyjoy!” he growled, but Cersei waved him off, rising slowly from the Iron Throne.

Her movements were sleek and subtle as she descended from the dais and Euron swore he saw her hips swaying ever so slightly as she did so. _The woman means to seduce me – I'd laugh if this wasn't so absurd._ “Very well, Euron Greyjoy. What do you want?” she smirked at him.

“It's not what I want, Queen Cersei – it's what you want.” he grinned. “I have one thousand ships, all crewed by experienced killers and raiders. They sail under my flag – the flag of House Greyjoy. I'd be willing to give you those ships and raiders for your armies, to help you take the Seven Kingdoms once and for all.”

Euron swore he saw a gleeful look flash in Cersei's eyes as he spoke. “And in return?”

“All you have to do is marry me. Wed the Iron Throne to the Salt Throne. You'll be Queen and I'll be your King...or Prince-Consort or whatever the fuck you people call it.” Euron bit down on his lip for emphasis. “And together we'll rain death down on all our enemies.”

Cersei allowed herself to snicker at his words. “Mmm, you ask much of your Queen, Lord Greyjoy. I may be willing to consider your offer – but I require proof of these ships before I agree to anything. You understand, of course.”

“But of course, Queen Cersei.” he nodded. “Come aboard my ship. You, the Kingslayer – you can bring your entire gathering of idiots if you so desire.” he waved to the assembled nobles. “I'll show you the power of the Iron Fleet first-hand.”

“You can't be serious, thinking the Queen would trust the word of a madman like you.” Jaime cut in, sneering towards Euron. “Get out of here and take your crew of mutes back to whatever hole you -”

“Enough, Jaime.” Cersei silenced him with a wave of her hand. “Gather the Queensguard. I want to see these ships for myself.”

 

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran and Sansa explore a vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be some questions about how Bran brought them to this point in the visions. I'm going to say that because Sansa was thinking of Baelish and his lies at the time that her thoughts influenced his destination for their weirwood.net travels. I hope this makes sense to you all and you enjoy it. <3

Bran's return put a pause on the tension between Arya and Sansa as they spent most of that day getting to know each other once again. Bran explained how his greensight had destined him as the Three-Eyed Raven, something he was still trying to fully understand. After spending most of the day in the hall eating and laughing and crying together, they paid a visit to the crypts and visited Father, Robb and Rickon.

“I sent him to the Umbers to keep him safe,” Bran wiped his eyes to clear away his tears as Meera wrapped a comforting arm around him. “This is all my fault. He might still be alive if I told them to go somewhere else..”

Sansa laid a hand on Bran's own squeezing it softly. “Jon and I made sure the Umbers paid for their crimes, Bran. You have my word on that.” she smiled sadly towards him. She told him of the battle and how their liege lord, the one who gave Rickon to Ramsay was slain during the battle along with most of his army.

Bran nodded. “It won't bring him back.” he lowered his head glumly.

Arya returned to Bran's side, dropping more furs onto his sled. “Hey, we're together again. That's what matters.” she smiled at her brother.

Bran told them about Hodor and Jojen and Summer – his friends and companions who died to get him to beyond the Wall. “I think about them all every day. I...just feel so much guilt for everything that I've done. The sight...it makes me think that all of this is my fault.”

“Bran, stop it.” Meera scolded, curling up next to him on the sled. “I told you already – remember what the Three Eyed Raven said. The ink was already dry and the past was already written. This was going to happen no matter what you did.”

“So this greensight, Bran...what does it mean?” Sansa jumped in, her brow furrowed in confusion. “I know you said you can have visions, but...what kind of visions?”

Bran turned his head towards Sansa. “I can see the past. When the original Three Eyed Raven died, I was flooded with memories. I saw the Mad King and his death, I saw King's Landing under siege. All the way up to...to Robb and Father's deaths. There's so much I saw that I can't even remember it all.”

“Is there a way to show it to others?” Arya asked, sitting down by the fire where they all sat, the crackling of the embers warming their chilled bodies. “I mean, to show other people the events you can see..”

“I haven't tried that.” Bran shook his head, resting his hand on Meera's back. “All I know is that when I touch a weirwood – any weirwood – the visions happen.”

Sansa said nothing but her mind was intrigued. Could Bran show them the past? There was so much Sansa wanted – to see her father, her mother, Robb – all of her family. But they were dead and gone and Bran couldn't bring them back.

“One thing Bran,” Arya piped up again, “How come the Night's Watch didn't let us know they'd found you?” They'd told of a ranging party locating them at the spot where their uncle Benjen – long assumed to be dead – had left them.

Bran laughed, blushing sheepishly. “I told their Lord Commander I wanted to keep it quiet. Surprise you all with my triumphant return.”

“Bran.” Sansa spoke with a hushed voice, being unable to catch herself in time. “Could you..show me Father? I want...I want to see him again. One last time.”

Bran's smile faded as he reached out a hand to her. “I said I don't know, Sansa. I've never tried to bring someone else with me to see my visions. I could hurt you or..or worse. I don't want that on my conscience. I already blame myself for Hodor, Rickon and Summer..”

“You wouldn't. I'm volunteering.” she replied as tears gently trickled down her face. “Please, Bran. The last time I saw him was when...was when they cut his head off in King's Landing. I don't want that to be the last thing I remember of him.”

“If she wants to try it Bran, I don't see the harm.” Meera added, the crannogwoman having buried her head in the nape of his neck. “If the Three Eyed Raven could bring you into his visions I don't see why you can't bring her into them.”

Arya rose abruptly from her seat and walked away, her feet carrying her brusquely out of the hall. “Arya..?” Bran turned to Sansa, confused. “What's going on?”

“It's a long story, Bran.” Sansa sighed. “Needless to say she is angry with me and I can't...I can't blame her.” She wondered where Arya was going – perhaps to find Ghost, who was probably out hunting in the wolfswood.

“Sansa, if you want to do this I...I can't stop you. But at the first sign of trouble Meera, do whatever you have to and sever my connection to the tree. Do you understand?” He smiled as she nodded her affirmation.

“I need this, Bran. Please.” Sansa sighed, rubbing her eyes gently.

“Okay. Meera, let's go to the godswood.”

* * *

 

A few moments later the trio of Bran, Sansa and Meera sat in front of the godswood and it's heart tree. Bran climbed his way off of his sled and crawled to lay beside the tree, his back propped up against the rock.

Sansa sat down on the rock next to him, looking down at her brother and nodding. “What do I have to do?”

Bran inhaled sharply as he observed his surroundings. “Take my hand. I'll touch the tree and it should...it should bring us both in. Again Sansa, I have to say I have never done this before. But something in my mind tells me this should work. Now that I'm here it...it feels like a certainty.”

Meera took her place at Bran's other side, clutching his shoulder firmly. Bran kissed her on the cheek and smiled. “Remember, if you see anything looking out of place don't hesitate to break the connection.”

Sansa's mind raced as she braced herself. Her thoughts quickly cycled from one thing to another – from Jon to her father to the Dragon Queen to even Petyr Baelish and his lies. The anxiety was beginning to get the better of her. _The sooner we do this, the better._

Bran touched the tree with his free hand as Sansa gripped him tightly. Within moments she felt the world go dark – almost as if someone pulled a sheet over her face – before the surroundings went from the godswood in Winterfell to the courtyard of the Red Keep.

* * *

 

“Bran?” she called, looking around for her brother. She found him standing some metres away observing a group of men to his right. Much to her surprise she found he was standing. “Your legs..” she began.

“Here in the visions I am whole again.” he sighed, gesturing at her to look where he was. Sansa stared at the sight before her – at least two dozen if not more soldiers, dressed in the Stark fashion milled about as bells tolled overhead. At their head was her father, looking as regal as he did the last time she saw him.

Her hands trembled as she walked closer, unable to control her shaking. “C..can he see us?” she wondered, hoping for an answer she knew otherwise.

“No. And we can't influence events. We can only observe.” Bran replied, a sad smile etched on his face.

As they spoke, Ned Stark walked forward as he leaned on his cane for support with the soldiers following him, travelling first ahead of him around a corner. Sansa and Bran followed close behind.

As they came around the bend Sansa saw her father stop as two figures approached him – Varys and Littlefinger. Sansa's heart beat faster as she watched them nod to each other in greeting. All around the courtyard Stark soldiers stood hands on their swords.

“All is accomplished, the City Watch is yours.” Littlefinger spoke, nodding his head ever so slightly to Ned.

Her father nodded wearily, his face wracked with pain. “Good. Is Lord Renly joining us?”

“I fear Lord Renly has left the city. He rode through the Old Gate an hour before dawn with Ser Loras Tyrell and some fifty retainers.” Varys added with a sigh. “Last seen galloping south in some haste.”

The three men looked at each other and nodded, their faces growing apprehensive as they walked together towards the Red Keep, the Stark troops trailing behind.

Sansa ran ahead of Bran – she had to know what this was, what was happening. _Why am I seeing this now?_

Ned approached the double doors to the throne room as Janos Slynt – the Commander of the City Watch – flanked him to his right. “We stand behind you, Lord Stark.” he added as Ned walked into position, nodding towards the herald.

The doors flew open with a great crash as the party solemnly proceeded into the chamber. “All hail His Grace Joffrey of Houses Baratheon and Lannister, First of His Name. King of the Andals and First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” the herald announced. Sansa followed close behind her father and Baelish as they halted before the throne. Joffrey sat in the chair, a sneer upon his lips while Cersei sat at her son's side.

A tense silence followed between the parties. “I command the council to make all necessary arrangements for my coronation. I wish to be crowned within the fortnight. Today I shall accept oaths of fealty from my loyal councils.” Joffrey broke the silence, staring directly at Ned.

Her father paused as he seemed to consider his position. “Ser Barristan,” he called. “I believe no man here could ever question your honor.” He then pulled a scroll from his tunic and offered it to the man as he stepped forward.

Barristan Selmy inspected the scroll before turning to Joffrey. “King Robert's seal, unbroken.” he announced. Sansa grinned as she watched Joffrey fidget uncomfortably in his chair. Selmy walked back into his place at the head of the throne, removing the seal and unfurling the scroll as he did so.

“'Lord Eddard Stark is herein named Protector of the Realm. To rule as regent until the heir come of age.'” the Kingsguard knight read, his gaze turning to Cersei.

“May I see that letter, Ser Barristan?” Cersei demanded, shooting out of her chair and rushing forward. As she took the letter she glanced down at it. “Protector of the Realm? Is this meant to be your shield, Lord Stark?” she mocked as she took the letter and tore it into small pieces. “A piece of paper?”

Ser Barristan looked taken aback. “Those were the King's words!” he protested.

“We have a new King now. Lord Eddard, when we last spoke you offered me some council. Allow me to return the courtesy. Bend the knee, My Lord. Bend the knee and swear loyalty to my son. And we shall allow you to live out your days in the grey waste you call home.” Cersei's words dripped with venom, Sansa noted.

Bran stood at her side, finally having caught up. “Sansa -” he tried to speak, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand, fixated on the scene before her.

“Your son has no claim to the Throne,” Ned insisted, raising his head high.

“LIAR!” Joffrey shouted as Cersei snorted contemptuously. “You condemn yourself with your own mouth, Lord Stark. Ser Barristan, seize this traitor!” she commanded.

“Ser Barristan is a good man, a loyal man – do him no harm!” her father shouted as his guards advanced on the Kingsguard while he moved forward, pausing before reaching him and a look of uncertainty filling his face.

“You think he stands alone?” Cersei responded as the Hound drew his sword.

Joffrey rose from his chair, pointing angrily at the assembled Starks. “Kill him! Kill all of them! I command it!” he shouted as the Lannister guards in the room grabbed for their swords.

“Commander! Take the Queen and her children into custody. Escort them back to their royal apartments and keep them there under guard.” her father shouted, looking to the side where Janos Slynt stood.

“Men of the Watch!” he barked as his soldiers pointed their spears in Joffrey's direction.

The room was ripe with tension as Sansa's heart raced so fast in her chest it threatened to leap out. Every armed man in the room had his hand on their sword. “I want no bloodshed!” Ned said, looking gently around. “Tell your men to lay down their swords and no one needs to die.”

“NOW!” barked Janos Slynt. Suddenly his men turned on their heels, driving their spears into the Stark soldiers as they were cut down with brutal efficiency before many of them could react. Her father spun around in surprise and confusion grabbing for his own blade as one of his guards rushed forward, trying to reach the Throne as he was cut down by the Hound.

Before her father could react further a dagger had been placed at his throat from behind as Littlefinger stated gleefully, “I did warn you not to trust me.”

Sansa fell to her knees, fresh tears filling her vision as she watched in horror. It was at that moment that her life – everything she'd believed, been taught and been trying to achieve – fell to nothing as she came to understand that Petyr Baelish was not just the man who sold her to Ramsay Bolton or the man who lusted after her, but he was the man who was the root cause of every ounce of suffering her family had ever endured.

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Daenerys have a more quiet chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where my story will diverge from season 7's leaks about wight hunting and/or Cersei/Dany teamwork because it just doesn't make sense. I hope you guys enjoy it none the less. <3

The night air was cool and crisp in Dragonstone as a gentle wind blew Jon's fur coat ruffling the fabric ever so softly. Jon ignored the wind as much as he could, his eyes firm and focused on Daenerys who stood on the balcony in the Chamber of the Painted Table. She'd dismissed Tyrion and Varys for the night while Jon had done the same with Davos – so that the two rulers could have a chance for a more personal discussion.

Daenerys wore a worried expression on her face though she made sure her back was to Jon. “So, you say that these Others can raise the dead?” she questioned, her voice betraying her fear – much to Jon's satisfaction.

“Yes. I've seen it myself. There was a wildling village called Hardhome. We – the Night's Watch – travelled there to evacuate them south of the Wall. The Others found us first. It was...a slaughter.” Jon's mind flashed with recollections to the chaos of that day, the screams of the dead and dying carrying all around him.

“But the worst thing, Your Grace – it wasn't the battle. It was what happened after that shook me. I watched as the Night King lifted his arms into the air, like this..” Jon mimicked the gesture as best as he could, “and every single dead body, wildling and Night's Watch alike...got back up as wights under his control.”

_He does not seem the type to lie,_ Daenerys noted ruefully. Since her initial meeting with the King in the North she had become fascinated by him. She saw no hint of the typical behaviour of monarchs in him – the haughty arrogance and overwhelming sense of entitlement. Indeed she would not have even considered him a King had he not been announced as such.

He'd told her of his ascension as King – chosen by the lords of the North much to his horror and how he feared he'd usurped his sister Sansa. Daenerys noted that Jon spoke very highly of his sibling – his voice always rising ever so slightly when mentioning her in conversation. _It's obvious he cares deeply for her,_ she noted.

“Now you know why I've come here.” Jon finished, sighing as he ran a hand through his hair. “We need your armies and your dragons for the Long Night to come. Because if the North falls -”

“We all do.” she finished for him, tapping her hands on the smooth ivory railing. “If Tyrion or Varys were here they would tell me that this is nothing more then a fantasy from a man trying to misdirect me. Thankfully for the both of us, they aren't here.”

Jon nodded. “I can appreciate their skepticism. I know if I were in their position that I'd be wary of listening to a story like this myself. But I can assure you, Your Grace – since we came here to Dragonstone have you known us to lie? I have always been upfront and honest with you.”

“You have. Pure honesty is a trait that many would say is dangerous.” Daenerys pursed her lips as she searched for the right words. “I would say they are wrong and it is an admirable one.”

“I learned all I am from my father. Even though his pure honesty got him killed I can't just cast aside what he taught me.” Jon replied as his voice grew softer, as it always did when he brought up Ned Stark.

“I always hated your father for fighting with the Usurper against my family. But from what Varys and now you have told me – it seems I misjudged him.” Daenerys hated to admit when she was wrong – but it was clear she'd been wrong about the late Lord Eddard.

A silence fell over them as Jon walked over to the balcony, standing to Daenerys's right side. She watched him carefully as he propped an arm on the railing and stared up into the night sky. “What are you thinking about, King Snow?”

Jon shrugged. “Home.” In truth he longed not just for the walls of Winterfell but for Sansa. To smell her, to touch her, see her and feel her. The last month of his absence had been almost agony for his mind save for the continued negotiations with the Queen.

“You fought hard to get there. Just as I have fought hard to get here – we are both products of our environments. Look at you, a bastard boy who had no real future save a lonely life at the Wall now sits as King in the North.” Daenerys smiled, gently touching her hand to his own. She felt his fingers tense at the sensation.

She paused as she studied his reaction. His face made no change in emotions as he nodded. “And from what you have told me – you went from a child bride bought and sold to becoming one of the most powerful women in all of Westeros.”

The pair had argued for hours upon hours about what they both wanted – Jon wanting to secure Northern independence while Daenerys wanted him to bend the knee – so it was nice to speak to him in a more positive and open setting. “I...assume you haven't reconsidered my offers, then.” she whispered quietly, already knowing his answer.

“You know that I haven't.” he replied, a frown creeping onto his face. “Nor you've considered mine, then.”

“A compromise,” Daenerys offered, waving out to her fleet. “Come with me to King's Landing. We'll take the city and the Iron Throne. From there, I will send my armies north to Winterfell and aid you against the Others.”

“And what of the North?” Jon asked again, his face growing more concerned.

“After...after we have destroyed them, we will meet with your banners together. Let them see their Queen first hand – to see that she is not Aerys Targaryen or any of the other mad monarchs of old. I think...I think once they have met me they will see that you bending the knee is not such a horrible option.”

She knew that once they saw her atop Drogon and the destructive power of her children the lords of the North would quickly swear fealty to House Targaryen once more. As much as she admired Jon Snow for all he had endured and accomplished – she could not allow the North to simply flaunt it's independence. _If I let one go, I let them all go._ The Iron Islands was a different case – they were isolated and highly withdrawn from the Seven Kingdoms – but the North was an integral part of the realm.

Jon exhaled softly, eyes gazing to his hands as he fidgeted them on the railing. “King's Landing is well protected especially now that Cersei has Euron's Iron Fleet with her. Taking the city could take weeks or months. We don't know how long the Night King will wait.”

Daenerys nodded her ascent. “Yes but until I take King's Landing I cannot give you the support you need. You know that if I were to send even one of my children north that Cersei would see that as a weakness.”

Jon shook his head, a wistful sigh escaping him. “I can see we're getting nowhere, Your Grace. Perhaps it would be best if we retired for the night and resumed in the morning – we're both getting tired.”

“I agree, King Snow. You may take your leave.” she smiled, nodding her head towards him.

Daenerys let out the breath she was holding in as he walked away, his footsteps growing fainter. She felt her face flush at the thought of him and she frowned. _Why am I allowing this boy to affect me so?_ She should be rightfully angry at him for his defiance but yet, a small part of her actually felt admiration for it. _He's not afraid to stand up to you, Khaleesi._

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime Lannister tries to deal with his inner demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanting to take this in a different direction for Jaime too - I don't see him sticking with Cersei very long. :)

The echo of Jaime's boots on the marble was the only sound he heard, storming angrily away from the Throne Room as fast as his legs could carry him. He'd spent the better part of the afternoon trying to persuade Cersei to refuse Euron Greyjoy's offer. That while his fleet was impressive the ironborn would betray her eventually after she had given him what he wanted. But the Cersei he knew and loved was gone – and in her place was a Queen willing to do anything to destroy her enemies.

Jaime stopped and leaned against a pillar, bitter tears flowing from his eyes. The last of his children was gone – having killed himself after the explosion at the Sept of Baelor. House Lannister willingly served as Cersei's enforcers in the city – she having brought practically the entire army and navy from the Westerlands to secure King's Landing for herself.

Cersei had told him that marrying Euron would be a formality at best – just as it was with Robert Baratheon. But for all of his faults Robert Baratheon was nothing like him. He may have been a lecherous, whoring drunk whom Jaime despised – but he was not Euron. He'd pleaded with her to see reason – that a man such as he was a liability no matter the numbers he commanded. Once she would have been able to see that, perhaps. But now there was nothing that his sister wanted more then to maintain control.

“I will do anything to hold this throne, Jaime.” she had told him, her eyes cold and icy.

_Yes you will dear sister. That much is clear now._ Cersei had denied having anything to do with the Sept's destruction – but Jaime knew that it had to be her doing. The Sept had been one of the places where Aerys had ordered wildfire be stored and it was obvious to him that she'd somehow detonated the barrels, wiping out the Tyrells, the Faith – and their uncle Kevan, among hundreds of others.

“You alright?” a voice called out to him. Turning his head he found Bronn sauntering over, patting him on the back gently. “I know this is a lot of nasty shit to take in for ya.”

“Nasty shit doesn't begin to describe it.” Jaime retorted, squeezing his eyes as he tried to will the tears away. “My nephew dead, Cersei on the Throne making alliances with ironborn madmen...what's happened to us, Bronn?”

The sellsword shrugged. “Wish I could tell ya. Whole realm is going to shit.”

Cersei was once again commanding him – this time, back to the Riverlands to subdue Seagard and Raventree Hall, as both Houses Blackwood and Mallister were in revolt against the Iron Throne still, having risen up with the Blackfish had retaken Riverrun.

Jaime thought sadly of Brynden Tully, a man he admired. _I should have let him go,_ he reflected glumly.

“What's left of it, you mean.” he bitterly mused as he resumed walking with Bronn at his side. “So, we're back to the Riverlands as you know per her orders.”

Bronn scowled. “After the shit she's pulled, you're really just gonna follow her?”

If it had been anyone else Jaime would have probably beat them within an inch of their life for that comment – but Bronn was always honest and open with his opinions and Jaime appreciated the honesty behind it. “What else can I do? Go to Daenerys Targaryen, who's father I killed? Go north to serve Jon Snow, the King in the North – who's father my family helped to kill?”

“Ah c'mon, use your head. Hear your little brother's been spotted as Hand of the Q ueen to the dragon lady. Could always go ask him.” he shrugged.

“Tyrion killed our father.” Jaime stated plainly.

“Aye, he did. But was your father ever really that good to him? C'mon, I can understand the poor shit's reasoning behind it.”

Jaime could too. At least, part of him. Tyrion was always abused and mistreated by Cersei and their father – both of them blaming him for their mother's death. Jaime never truly hated his little brother, and even after he'd slain their father on the privy that night he struggled to truly despise him even then. Of course he tried to tell everyone how much he would kill Tyrion the next time they met but in his heart deep down, he wouldn't be able to.

“We ride for the Riverlands. If...if there's any hope to be found of restoring peace to one part of Westeros I say we have to try.” Jaime sighed. “As for Cersei, well...”

“Well, what? She blows up a fucking Sept, kills hundreds of innocent people and you're trying to stick up for her?” Bronn sounded indignant.

“She's my sister!” Jaime retorted, slamming his golden hand into the wall.

“Aye, she is. But you're not her.” the sellsword replied, sighing. “I'll ride with you. But not for her.”

Jaime could only nod his assent. _I'm not her, but who am I?_

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran, Arya and Meera deal with the aftermath of the vision. Tormund is there too I guess because he's Tormund.

“Any change?” Bran asked as he leaned forward as far as he could. Maester Wolkan stood over the bed where Sansa lay. Her eyes were shut and she tossed and turned somewhat but was otherwise motionless – just as she was when Bran had brought them out of the vision. His face was wracked with guilt as he watched her, knowing that it was his fault for all of this happening.

“She appears to be in a deep sleep, My Lord.” the maester responded, standing up from his examination. “There is not much that can be done for now but to wait until she wakes.” he nodded, stepping back from the bed.

Bran sighed, running a hand through his hair. Meera sat at his side, an arm wrapped around him. “It's okay, Bran. You did everything right.” she whispered.

“I told her...that I'd never brought someone else into my visions before. I should have told her no even when she insisted. But she wanted to see Father again. I couldn't deny that to my sister.” The vision that they had been witness to was not a happy memory of their father, however – they had watched as he'd been arrested and his men cut down in front of him.

Arya pushed her way past Maester Wolkan as he left the room and ran up to Sansa's bed. “What happened?” she looked towards Bran, her face one of sheer panic. Ghost ambled in just after she did, jumping up onto the bed and laying at Sansa's feet, whining softly.

Bran explained to Arya what they had seen and Sansa's insistence on going in to the vision. “...I tried to tell her no but she wouldn't hear it.” he finished, hanging his head low. “I...couldn't deny her a chance to see Father again.”

Tormund, who sat in a chair opposite the bed took in the information with a frown. “So this Barlish asshole was the one who got your dad killed?” he asked out loud, shaking his head. “I knew he was bad news. I told Sansa as much!”

Arya's body began to shake with rage as her face flushed red. “It was him all along!” she spat, punching towards the wall. “The asshole is the reason that Father, Mother, Robb and Rickon are all gone! And he's the one Sansa trusts?!” she fumed.

Bran shook his head, raising a hand to try and calm her. “Arya, you can't say that. Sansa's our sister!”

“YES, Bran, I know!” she growled, pacing the room like a threatened animal. “and yet she wants to work with a man like that because she wants to be Queen! This is what it's all about.”

“What do you mean by that, little lady?” Tormund queried, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“The rumours! About Sansa and the Vale army!” Arya replied, launching into a detailed explanation for Bran – explaining all about the Free Folk, the northern lords and the Vale men's rumours.

Bran shook his head, incredulous. “Sansa would never do that to Jon, Arya. Why would she?”

“Because she's a jealous bitch! She wanted to be Queen and when the lords named Jon as King instead she felt usurped! So she's plotting with Littlefinger to get rid of Jon and put herself in charge. She's always hated Jon for being a bastard.” Arya cried, frustration evident in her voice.

“Lass, I can tell you right now that Jon Snow wouldn't believe a word of this horse-shit. Don't you think that it's strange these rumours started getting worse after Barlish got back? C'mon. He's trying to stir up shit and it's working.” Tormund shrugged idly, his face grim.

“Lord Baelish is trying to turn us against one another.” Bran interjected, his voice carrying. “For what end I don't know. But he clearly wants us to be like this. We're giving him what he wants by believing these lies about Sansa.”

A soft moan hushed the room as Sansa's eyes flickered open. “Jon...” she whispered as her mind began to clear. Bran turned to her and placed a hand on her arm.

* * *

“Sansa? It's Bran. Are you alright?” he asked nervously.

“Where am I?” she sighed, sitting up slowly in the bed.

“Your room. We brought you here after we came back out of the vision. You screamed and fell unconscious.”

“How long?” she asked, her voice gaining tone.

“A few hours. The maester said you were just asleep and needed time to wake up naturally.” smiled Bran, patting her arm softly.

Sansa brought a hand to her forehead as the memories of the vision came flooding back to her – she had watched her father's men cut down and her father betrayed and arrested all thanks to Lord Baelish. Her body shook with horrified realization and the tears began to flow from her face again.

“Everything that's happened to our family. It's all been because of him..” she sniffled, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. “All along they had told me I was the one who had Father arrested because I was so...so naive and stupid.”

“You couldn't have known, Sansa.” Bran replied, comforting her as best he could.

“Yet you still want to trust him and be Queen,” Arya glared towards her.

“You can't believe that, Arya! I may have been a stupid and naive girl when we left Winterfell, but things have changed. Family is...it's the most important thing to me. I would never do anything to hurt Jon. Anything, do you hear me?” Sansa cried, wounded.

“Aye. Arya, come on. Barlish is trying to fuck with you and it's working.” Tormund had got up from his seat and stood with them over the bed. “I trust Sansa. Jon does too.”

Arya's face softened as she sighed, shaking her head slightly. “I'm...okay, fine. But what do we do about him? I don't want him getting away with this.”

Sansa nodded, her mouth locking into a sneer. “He won't. For now, we play along. Make it look like we're divided like he wants. We need enough proof to have him removed, permanently. But if he dies now we lose the Vale – and we need their support.”

Tormund beamed at the mention of murder. “Let me do it! I'll carve the cunt's cock off and feed it to him!”

This got a laugh from Arya. “Oh no. If anyone's killing him it's me.”

Sansa's mind longed for Jon. _I need you here, by my side. This is too much to bear alone. But..I will press on for us both, my love – and save our family from the man who is trying to poison us all._

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has a moment with one of the dragons that doesn't result in him being eaten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in the interest of not making my story 1000 chapters long I am going to split the fic into parts 1 and 2. Part 2 will be started after this part is over - so another few chapters at most. I hope you all are enjoying and thank you again for all your love and support. <33

Jon lay in his bed within the guest quarters, playing over the days events in his mind. It was all so overwhelming to him now that he was able to think clearly enough about what had actually happened. What a story I can tell...

It'd began like any other day during his time on Dragonstone – he and Davos had spent the morning with the Queen and her advisers, hammering out and arguing over what each side would do and what they wouldn't do. Daenerys had been extra agitated that morning – she explained it was because she wanted to muster her fleets for the march on King's Landing but was having to hold back due to the negotiations with him.

At midday they broke for lunch – but Daenerys had stopped him before he had been able to exit the Chamber. “Would you like to meet my children?” she had asked him, a smile playing on the corners of her lips.

Jon knew at once what she meant by 'her children' – she wanted to show him the dragons in person. He'd seen them but never up close – mostly watching as they flew overhead or quarrelled with one another over food. To have an opportunity like this, to see the first living dragons in centuries was one he could not pass up.

She'd taken him to an open-air chamber located in the eastern wing of the fortress. She'd explained that during the time of the Targaryen dynasty it had been used as an aviary for dragon eggs and younger hatchlings to live and feed in. But since her dragons were already adults she'd been using the room to store the copious amounts of sheep and oxen that the beasts devoured on a daily basis.

“Here. I'll summon one of them for some lunch. Don't worry – they won't harm you unless I tell them.” she had teased, but that had done nothing to put Jon's mind at ease. She'd walked up to a massive gong located on a balcony in the room and rang it with all of her might. Jon had to stop himself from falling over from the vibrations of the sound as it echoed through the castle.

A few tense moments passed before a familiar roar engulfed the sky above. Jon watched as one of the dragons – the green coloured one that Daenerys had told him was named Rhaegal after her late brother – flew down into the chamber and landed with a crash, shaking the room violently despite it's obsidian construction.

Jon's breath had grown shallow as he'd watched Daenerys walk up and pet the beast gently near it's snout. “Come, King Snow. Rhaegal won't hurt you.” she smiled, gesturing him over. He remembered swallowing down his fear as he willed his reluctant legs forward.

The dragon had sniffed and roared at him, stirring unsteadily as it watched both him and it's mother. “Shh, easy...” she'd cooed. “He's just getting to know you first.” Jon reached Daenerys's side as the dragon stared at him, turning it's snout to sniff him directly on the chest. He'd braced himself for an instant fiery death if the beast didn't approve of him – but much to his surprise, Rhaegal had made a sort of purring noise and lowered it's head for him to pet.

Jon did so, running a hand hesitantly over the scaled hide. Daenerys's face betrayed her expression – one of utter shock as she watched him, mouth agape. Rhaegal continued to 'purr' as Jon continued to pet him, his eyes lolling back and his massive tongue drooping out of its mouth.

Jon had noticed the Queen's shocked expression and turned his head to her. “I...take it you weren't expecting this?” he'd questioned, curious.

She'd shook her head and blinked rapidly. “It's just...I've never seen Rhaegal react this way to anyone. He lets Tyrion and maybe Grey Worm get close to him – but never to pet. And he's never stuck his tongue out like that for me..”

“Maybe he just likes the North.” Jon had laughed. In truth he himself was somewhat unnerved by the incident – why had a full grown dragon been so submissive and docile towards someone he'd never met?

Jon felt as though he needed to try again. To see if the incident with Rhaegal was just a fluke – or if there was something more to what happened. Rising from his bed he glanced out of the window, the night sky illuminated by the torches scattered about the castle's exterior.

He knew that he couldn't find out the truth unless he was alone with the beast, so he gently opened the door to his chamber and began to pick his way through the deserted and darkened corridors.

As he traveled through the guest wing of Dragonstone Jon tried to remember the location of the feeding chamber. He recalled it being off of the Chamber of the Painted Table to the left, down past the main armoury and back towards the dungeons. As he went Jon's mind began to feel a strange sensation of longing – this was something that he had to be certain of. It was almost as though he was being compelled to do this, no matter what Daenerys or any of the others would say.

Jon swept by the double doors leading to the Chamber remembering that Daenerys had brought him through the doors and to the left. He quickly dodged the Unsullied sentries who were patrolling outside of the hall and slipped through a door leading towards the west wing of the castle. His mind urged him to turn back, to stop this foolishness and go back to bed – but Jon could not.

As he slunk through the western corridors Jon's mind raced as fast as his heart, his steps echoing in his ears as though he were wearing full plate mail. As he rounded the bend near the main armoury he felt his breath catch in his throat – he was close to the chamber and he knew it. A series of footfalls made his heart nearly stop with fear as he ducked into a dark alcove. Thankfully it was merely another Unsullied patrol, who passed by without a second glance.

After what felt like an eternity of endless hallways Jon reached the familiar double doors to the feeding chamber. They were huge, black and twisted – much like that of the doors to the great hall. _Stop this,_ his mind urged. _Turn back now before you end up dragon food._

* * *

 

Jon pushed the thoughts of quitting out of his head. Inhaling sharply he opened the doors to the chamber and proceeded to the cages in the far corner of the room. The various beasts bleated and hollered at his approach but he ignored them, grasping the huge metal bar that kept each cage closed and prying it up with a cry.

As he did so one of the sheep darted out of the cage he'd opened and Jon quickly went to put the bar back down. But as he did so the other animals tried to push the door open as Jon struggled. He had to use all of his strength and then some to fend off the headbutting and hooves from the angry beasts as he shoved the metal back down, sealing the cage for good.

Glancing around Jon saw the staircase leading to the balcony and proceeded up cautiously. He found himself face to face with a gong in the shape of a dragon's wing, the giant hammer used to ring it laying gently on the ground next to it.

Grasping the cold steel of the hammer Jon felt the blood rush to his ears as he trembled slightly. Yet the force that kept him from turning back urged him on – no matter how Jon's rational mind protested what he was about to do. With a final sharp exhale Jon smashed the hammer into the gong, dropping it to the floor as he covered his ears from the noise.

All that he could do now was wait – either for a dragon or the Unsullied to find him.

He did not have to wait long as the beating of wings overhead confirmed the presence of Daenerys's children. As Jon looked up in awe he saw that all three of the beasts circled overhead – making no noise. They must be looking to see who summoned them, he reasoned. Quickly descending the stairs Jon made his way to the centre of the chamber for all three of the dragons to see.

At once a mighty roar went up from one of them and it began it's descent – and Jon quickly saw that it was Rhaegal. The green beast landed with a crash right next to him and devoured it's snack messily before the sheep could even react. It smashed the floor with it's tail as it ate and Jon had to resist every urge in his body to run.

The dragon looked at him as it gulped down the last of the sheep and shook it's head, snorting at him.

Jon approached from the front, his hands open at his side. “You remember me, don't you?” he whispered in awe as the dragon sniffed at him. The beast's eyes narrowed slightly as it did so before it repeated the motion it made earlier – bending it's head low and 'purring'.

“Why me? I'm not your mother.” Jon questioned, knowing that he'd get no answer from a dragon. The beast merely looked up at him and gestured with its head upwards towards its body. “You want me to pet you?” Jon placed a hand on the beast's back and began to stroke. It continued to purr contently.

After a few moments of this Rhaegal looked towards Jon and shook it's head from side to side, gesturing once more to it's body. “What? I'm petting you now. What else do you want.” The beast lowered the half of it's body facing Jon until it touched the ground, gesturing with its head once again. Jon was confused – he'd no idea what the creature was getting at.

“I don't understand you. Do you want something from me?” Jon whispered again, eyebrows furrowed. This got a snort from the beast as it remained in its pose. Jon tried to step closer but accidentally brushed his foot against the beast's skin. This caused it to shake it's head up and down. “My foot?” Jon asked, narrowing his eyes. He brushed his foot to the beast again, and it repeated the motion.

Jon placed both his hands on Rhaegal's neck, petting him with both of his hands. “Do you want me to pet you with both hands and...feet?” Jon asked, feeling stupid. His hands ran far over the beast's neck as he nodded. “That's what you want -”

Before Jon could react the beast roared, kicking off the ground with it's massive wings and soaring up into the sky.

* * *

 

Jon screamed as he felt himself being lifted up into the sky above Dragonstone. He hung on for dear life and tried to grip as hard as he could on Rhaegal's scales. The beast did not seem to notice his grasp and it soared up to rejoin it's brothers, steadying itself after a few moments and hovering in the sky above the chamber.

“What are you doing?!” Jon cried, trying to scramble up the side of its neck. “Down! Go back down!” he shouted. With an affirming roar Rhaegal began to descend back down towards the chamber. “Not so fast! Go back up!” Jon pleaded, finally swinging one of his feet over the neck and trying to steady himself, gripping the beast's scales as tight as he could.

Rhaegal went back up at his words, roaring in affirmation. As Jon held on for dear life he noted that the beast was not trying to shake him off – indeed, it seemed to be listening to him when he shouted his commands. It...it wants me to ride him, Jon marveled. He felt as though he was going to throw up – his heart was in his throat and he swore that he'd pissed his breeches in utter terror.

“Go forward?” he questioned and Rhaegal soared forward, the cool wind blowing harshly into Jon's skin and hair. He struggled against the intensity and squeezed the scales even harder. “Okay, stop! Please?” he pleaded as the beast halted abruptly in the air, now over the far side of the castle.

“Go back to the feeding chamber! Baaack!” he cried as the dragon banked sharply before turning about and soaring towards the west wing. As Rhaegal took him over the feeding chamber, Jon cried out “STOP!” with all that his voice could muster.

“Ok, down. Land.” he whispered, arms and legs shaking violently as the dragon crashed to the chamber floor, shaking its head as it did so.

Jon hopped off its neck and stumbled away, too stunned to say anything. He didn't even remember getting back to his room or falling off to bed.

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Winterfell get some bad news. Bran makes a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any errors in this one. I didn't sleep well last night and my head is currently not in a good place due to the events of last night. I still hope you guys enjoy. We are closing in on the end of part one. <3

“Can we confirm these reports are accurate?” Sansa asked, placing the paper in her hand back onto the table.

“Aye, of course they are.” Tormund grunted, his face apprehensive. “At Hardhome we saw the same thing.”

Sansa nodded, exhaling softly. She had to keep up appearances – if she were to show a modicum of weakness or fear in front of her bannermen it would be the end of the North as they knew it. The truth was that she was afraid – very afraid.

Castle Black had sent a raven to Winterfell that had arrived roughly an hour ago – it was penned by the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Eddison Tollett. In a scribbled and rough tone the message indicated that the Others had arrived to the Wall. Tollett reported tens if not hundreds of thousands of wights and their masters had flooded through the Haunted Forest and stopped just before the Wall, staring ominously up towards the defenders.

Accompanying them was a white mist that obstructed the entirety of the Wall – it could not be seen from Winterfell but other castles and hold-fasts closer to Castle Black were reporting it.

_The Long Night has come_ , Sansa reflected. Her heart felt as though it would beat out of her chest as her mind swam with anxiety. “We...we must send a raven to Dragonstone. Immediately.” she commanded. She needed Jon now more then ever. As much as she'd come to learn the intricacies of ruling since his departure she knew nothing about fighting the Others.

She looked to the other faces gathered at the table. From Bran to Arya to Tormund, Lords Mazin, Hornwood and Mormont. Their expressions ranged from grim to downright frightened. Sansa herself had to bite down on her lower lip to keep from adopting the same look.

“We've sent ravens to every House in the North just as you commanded, Lady Stark.” came Lyanna Mormont's commanding voice – although even her face betrayed her fear. “The banners are called, but it will take time for them to assemble and begin their march to the Wall.”

“We may not have the time,” retorted Lord Mazin, his eyes glancing about the hall nervously. “They may swarm The Wall before they arrive -”

“We cannot think that way!” Sansa interrupted him by raising her hand. “If we allow ourselves to give into fear then the Others have already won. Now, as I have said – we must send a raven to Dragonstone and inform King Jon at once.”

“Let's hope he's been successful then.” Arya added as she ground her teeth together.

Sansa turned to Tormund, nodding at him. “What about the Free Folk? I know you don't have many who can march and fight, but we'll need everyone we can especially now.”

Tormund smiled at her. “We've been ready since Hardhome, Sansa Stark.”

“M'lady,” a serving girl entered the room. “Lord Baelish wishes to join the council.”

Sansa bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood. “Send him in.” she ordered coldly. As he entered the room everyone stopped to stare at him, watching as he sauntered to a seat and bowed his head. “I apologize for my tardiness, Sansa. I've sent the command to Lord Royce – the Knights of the Vale will ride for the Wall whenever you need them.”

She nodded at him, inclining her head. “You have our thanks, Lord Baelish.” she smiled – although the gesture made her want to vomit.

“Look, cunt.” Tormund turned to face him. “I don't want you creeping around the castle while we're off fighting and dying. So why don't YOU lead the Knights of the Valley or Vale or Vermin or whatever the fuck you kneelers are.”

Arya laughed heartily as Baelish once again was taken aback by the wildling's attitude. “I am no fighter, Lord Giantsbane -”

“I AM NOT A FUCKING LORD.” Tormund yelled, smashing his fist on the table. Sansa smothered a giggle at his reaction.

“Yes – well, moving on. Sansa?” Baelish smiled towards her.

“Send the Knights. Now.” she nodded, her tone harsh and firm. The revelation that Baelish had been the one behind her family's suffering – having betrayed her father leading to his death, which cascaded into the deaths of her mother, Robb and Rickon – had finally awoke Sansa to the reality of this man. She felt as though she were the stupidest girl in the world – even though she thought herself the smartest.

_He was playing me since the beginning. I was too blinded by the allure of power and 'learning' from him to see that. I will not make that mistake again._

“They are on the way. The Others will not know what hit them.” Baelish replied confidently.

* * *

 

“Leave us. I must have words with my brother in private.” she ordered. As everyone filed out of the room Sansa turned to Bran, who sat with an almost vacant stare in his eyes. “Bran? Are you alright, you haven't said a word since we got the news from Castle Black.”

Bran looked towards her, his eyes welling with tears. “It's my fault, Sansa. The...The Night King is going to cross the Wall and it's all because of me.” he sighed, looking towards the floor.

“What do you mean, because of you?” Sansa asked, confused.

Bran then explained to her about the Three Eyed Raven and the Night King – how he had 'branded' him with his mark, a mark that nullified the magic of any area or structure that he was in. He lifted up his sleeve to reveal the hand-print still visible on his skin.

“...I had to come back though. I couldn't...couldn't leave Meera to die because of me. If I could walk, if I could support myself – I would stay out beyond the Wall and keep him out. But I'm weak and helpless.” he whispered.

Sansa felt her heart ache – both out of fear of Bran's revelation and out of sorrow for her brother and his misery. “Bran...” she began, placing a hand on his arm. “You are a Stark. You are my brother and Arya's brother and Jon's brother. We will find a way to defeat this. Together – I promise you this.”

Bran shook his head. “You don't understand, Sansa. I've damned us all.”

“You have not done anything of the sort. We WILL fight and we will win.” she grasped his arm tighter as Meera walked over, looking to the pair.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, a frown on her lips.

“I know.” Sansa admitted, sighing slightly. Meera looked to Bran, who nodded.

“If you want to throw Bran out of here, you'll have to go through me.” Meera threatened, balling her hands into fists.

“I won't let that happen, Meera. You have my word as a Stark.” Sansa smiled, causing the girl to relax.

“What happens now?” she asked, going to Bran's side and kissing him on the cheek, wrapping her arms around him.

Sansa rose to her feet and looked to the pair, nodding firmly. “Now, we fight.”

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon makes a choice for the good of the woman he loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end of Part one! I hope you all have enjoyed this. Don't worry, the story WILL CONTINUE in Part Two - I just need a day or so to rest before I start cranking out work for THAT one. <3 Again, feel free to share this around and let people know how amazing I am. Okay, not really. :P

Jon had read and re-read the raven from Winterfell a dozen times.

_It was scrawled in Sansa's hand. Sansa's beautiful, flowing hand:_

>   _Dearest Jon,_
> 
>   _I have sent this message on the fastest raven we have available to us. Maester Wolkan guarantees that it will reach you before all is lost._
> 
>   _I will not mince words Jon. The Others have arrived at The Wall. They make no moves but the Night's Watch reports tens if not hundreds of thousands of the dead and their masters including the Night King. I have called the banners in our name but it will take time for the North to assemble it's might._
> 
>   _I hope you are successful in recruiting Daenerys Targaryen to aid us. Even with the might of the North and the Vale I fear that without the dragons we will find no respite from this apocalypse. I am afraid, Jon – not just for myself but for the people of the North._
> 
>   _I am also afraid for us. I am afraid I will never see you again, to feel you and be held and loved by you._
> 
>   _Please come home when you can. Preferably with dragons._
> 
>   _All of my love,_
> 
>   _Sansa_

 

Jon had relayed the message's contents to Daenerys and her advisers – leaving out the parts involving he and Sansa – at their latest round of meetings. His mind raced with fear as he clenched and released his fists atop the Painted Table.

“I have to return home. Now – and I need to know if you are going to help us.” he demanded.

Daenerys sighed, her face wracked with conflict. Pursing her lips together she turned her head to Tyrion. “What do you think?”

“Why are you asking him?” Jon snapped, pounding his fist on the table. “Just give me a straight answer. Yes or no. My people are in danger! I need you to fly North all haste. If we're to have any chance of beating the Night King -”

“I know what is at stake here, King Snow.” Daenerys retorted, her eyes glaring into his. “You are asking me to risk the lives of my children in a battle against a nigh-endless army of the dead. You have to understand how difficult a choice this is.”

“I can appreciate that, Your Grace – but a ruler needs to make the difficult choices sometime. It's what makes them a ruler.” Jon's body shook with anxiety. Beside him Davos laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“For every man that dies, Your Grace, the army of the dead gets bigger. The dragons are the only sure-fire way of being able to cull their numbers without massive casualties.” the Onion Knight's face was stony but even Jon could see the fear in his eyes.

“Your Grace, our fleet prepares for an assault on King's Landing.” Varys added, his eyes being unable to meet Jon's. “If we were to take the dragons away from supporting our attack, there is a likelihood that between the Iron Fleet and Cersei's own Lannister forces that we would not be successful.”

“Fuck King's Landing!” Jon cried, slamming his fist back into the table, ignoring the pain that shot through his fingers. “If we don't act against the Others there isn't going to be a kingdom left to fight over.”

“We are aware of the gravity of the situation, King Snow.” the eunuch replied, a sad smile crossing his face. “But if our Queen is to have any chance of fighting against the Others she must secure her throne first. Unite the realm behind the banner of House Targaryen.”

Tyrion sighed, his fingers drumming the edge of the Painted Table. “Varys has the right of it, sadly. If we send even one dragon north to fight the Others – not only will my dear sister see this as her chance to attack, but said dragon may not even return from fighting.” the dwarf looked towards Jon. “We have to wait, Jon. I am sorry, truly -”

“You're sorry?!” Jon got to his feet, rage burning inside of him. “Tell that to the people of the North you are condemning. It's easy for you, sitting here behind your pretty table to tell me that saving lives can wait until you've got the Iron Throne.”

“King Snow, please.” Daenerys raise a hand, trying to calm him. “We cannot rush into this headlong. If we do then more lives will be lost due to reckless actions then saved.”

Jon stormed out of the Chamber, being unable to look Daenerys in the eye.

 

* * *

“If we leave for White Harbor now we can be at Winterfell inside the month.” Davos announced once the pair were back in Jon's chambers. “We can gather Lord Manderly's levies when we reach him and from there -”

“From there what, Davos? There might not even be a North left by the time we get to White Harbor.” Jon retorted, sighing as he laid himself on the bed. His head hurt from the rage and anxiety and anguish he felt. Not merely for the North but for Arya and Sansa.

_Sansa,_ Jon reflected. _I can't let them take you from me. I won't._

“What else can we do, Your Grace? It's clear that the Targaryens want to consolidate their power before making a move on the North. They hold the cards here, sadly. We're merely beggars – visitors, even.” the knight replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. “We'll have to either wait until they've taken King's Landing or return North ourselves.”

“And what kind of King am I if I can't even be there to fight beside my people?!” Jon cried, slamming his fists into the bed. _If she won't help us then I'll force her to._ A dark wave of thoughts took over his mind.

“I...I can't give you an answer for that one.” Davos admitted.

“No. I know you can't, Davos. But...thanks anyway. For trying.” Jon sighed, his eyes welling with tears. _Force her how?_ His rational mind scolded, _She's got hundreds of thousands of soldiers and you've got what, four guards? “_ I need some time to think alone, if you don't mind.”

As Davos left the room Jon sat up, rubbing his arms together. He was so tired and sore – he felt as though the life was being drained from his body. Rising to his feet he walked out onto the small balcony of the guest quarters, letting his eyes gaze out over Dragonstone. _It must be so nice to live in a delusional fairytale where this threat doesn't matter._

Jon's eyes darted to the far end of the keep where he saw – and heard – the dragons as they roared, presumably devouring food from their hunts. _Mother of Dragons, hm? Well, there's one dragon that she can't control. You proved that the other night._ Thankfully – despite an exhaustive investigation by the Unsullied – no one was able to determine why Rhaegal had acted as he did. Daenerys having dismissed it as simple dragon behaviour.

A sinister smile flashed on Jon's face. If Daenerys would not help him, he concluded, he would have no choice but to help himself.

* * *

Later that evening as the sun went down Jon strode confidently through the castle halls, garbed fully in his Northern regalia – including the large overcoat Sansa had made for him. Ned Stark reborn, they called him. _I'm not worthy of that but I know Father would do the same were he in my shoes._ Under his cloak he carried a small satchel with a few days supply of hard tack bread – nothing extravagant but for what he was about to do, he would need sustenance.

He found two Unsullied sentries outside the door to the feeding chamber. They looked at him curiously as he approached. “Your commander, Grey Worm. He sends me to give you this.” he offered up a note to the duo. One of them grasped the note with his spear hand – and Jon took the chance he needed and delivered an uppercut to the man's jaw, unprotected by the helmet.

As the man fell backwards from the blow Jon grabbed the straps of his armor and tossed him towards his companion, who was too slow to react as the unconscious guard slammed into him, knocking his spear and shield to the floor. Jon quickly dashed the guard's head – helmet and all – into the wall, which knocked him motionless to the floor.

Kneeling over to check for a pulse Jon rose, satisfied that both men were still alive. _I won't murder them for doing their jobs._

He practically jogged into the chamber and ran up the stairs to the platform, ringing the gong with all of his might. He knew that he'd only have minutes before the Queen would be alerted to what was happening so as the echoes rang out he ran back to the doors and slammed them shut, shoving one of the Unsullied spears through the handles. _That'll buy me a few extra seconds,_ he reasoned.

The beating of dragon wings filled the air as the trio appeared, roaring and hissing towards the ground. “RHAEGAL!” Jon called, standing in the center of the room. As the beast began to land Jon could hear the slamming of doors and the footsteps of heavily armed men heading his way.

Just as the beast dropped to ground level, its massive wings flapping sharply the door to the room flew open and a dozen or more Unsullied lead by their commander charged in. “Away from the dragon!” Grey Worm commanded, brandishing his spears toward Jon.

Jon had no time for this. He quickly clambered up Rhaegal's neck and grasped as tightly as he could to its hardened scales. “Up!” he cried as the beast launched itself into the air, knocking several Unsullied to the floor from the sharp wind blast.

As Jon reached the open air above Dragonstone he could hear the various shouts and chaos from the pit below. As Rhaegal continued to climb Jon patted him. “Forward, Go North!” he whispered as the beast stopped climbing, the clouds and moisture of the sky forming all around them. Jon felt as though he would be sick – and he was sorely tempted to gaze down to the endless drop that awaited him – but he resisted the urge.

“Down!” Rhaegal began to dive, soaring over Dragonstone clearly and passing the endless rolling fields of the Stormlands. The various mountains and hills and villages were nothing but grey, black and yellow blurs from atop the dragon as Jon gaped stupidly to himself, the wind blowing harshly in his hair.

“Forward, Rhaegal! North!” Jon shouted again, and the dragon roared – he didn't know if in acknowledgement or just beastly instinct – continuing to soar over the grey, black and yellow blurs below. Jon had no idea of knowing where he was but he knew that the beast was heading north away from Dragonstone at a rapid speed.

* * *

It felt as though he was flying for several hours. Jon's arms ached from grasping the scales of Rhaegal's neck as tightly as he was but the beast seemed to show no real agitation from it. His body was damp from flying above the cloud line and being drizzled with rain and he'd vomited at least twice – over the side of the dragon, of course – during the flight.

Yet he endured. And as Jon realized he ventured not because of the North or his duty as King but because of Sansa. He promised that he would return to her alive. And he promised he would bring help. She'd endured so much in terms of lies and suffering over the years and Jon was determined that he would not add to her list of anguishes.

For her he had stolen a dragon from House Targaryen – and for her, he would use that dragon to save the North.

Looking below – he had Rhaegal flying low enough to make out the surroundings around him – Jon saw the familiar banks of the Trident and the towers of the Twins looming overhead. “We're almost there, friend.” he patted the beast, reassuring it.

Just a little longer and he would cross into the North. They just had to hold on a bit longer...

* * *

Sansa was awakened from her rest by the urgent cries of the soldiers around her. As she opened the door to her chambers – having fallen asleep while knitting – she saw servants and guards and maids alike rushing this way and that. Grasping a guard by the arm she demanded, “What's happening?”

The young man bowed his head and stammered a reply. “Word from Castle Cerwyn, m'lady. Great beast approaching fast!” before rushing off, presumably heading to his post. _A great beast? What kind of beast?_

All at once it hit her like a ton of bricks. A dragon. Of course.

Sansa picked up the bottom of her dress as she began to run through the castle, her legs carrying her rapidly down the stairs and towards the courtyard where most of the Free Folk and Winterfell men were waiting, all assembled – at least in the case of the Winterfell men – in neat rows. Tormund was already there, barking to his own men to ready themselves.

“Sansa, what the fuck is going on?” the big burly man demanded as she rushed out into the open air. “Everyone's going crazy. Is it the Walkers?”

“No. There's -” she began to say but was cut off by a shrill inhuman cry.

“Look! Up there!” shouted a voice from the western parapet. Sansa – and almost everyone else – watched as the beast descended from the clouds. Their eyes widened as they saw the massive wings and tail and deep yellow eyes of the dragon dive down, growing larger by the second as it gained in speed.

The dragon flew over the castle and made for the open fields by one of the ruined towers – the same tower where Bran had been pushed from. Sansa rushed over with Tormund and his Free Folk trailing not far behind.

As the dragon crashed to the ground sending shockwaves through the snowy earth, the beast began to pant – it was clearly exhausted, judging by how it was covered in sleet and snow. It shook itself in an attempt to dry off – and wet muck splattered this way and that, narrowly missing Sansa as she watched in awe.

“Told you I'd bring help.” a voice commanded over the din. Sansa looked from the dragon to the voice and found Jon, also covered in damp snow and a grin plastered on his face. He looked ragged and exhausted – but alive.

She couldn't help herself. Launching forward she embraced him in a hug, her knees growing weak as she sobbed into his arms. He wrapped his cold body around her and kissed her forehead. They had to keep up appearances after all. “It's okay Sansa. I'm here.”

“Jon, by the gods, Jon..” she whispered, being unable to break away from him.

“I promised you, didn't I?”

 


End file.
